#event: bug turns one

[lovebugism]

do something with king steve who secretly likes female/shy/reader

hope u like it xoxo — the one where king steve keeps his best girl a secret (shy!fem!r, secret relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

“Boo!”

You jump when a figure appears suddenly behind the door of your opened locker. They’re wearing bell bottoms and a sparkly clip in their strawberry curls. Carol Perkins giggles when her attempts to scare you work. Tommy Hagan follows just behind her, laughing louder until his freckled face scrunches together.

The only reassuring thing about seeing both of them together is knowing Steve isn’t too far behind. He’s got his tongue in his cheek, and his arms crossed over his chest, visibly unamused.  “What are you guys— three?” he scoffs, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows.

“Yeah, three inches deep in your mom,” Tommy retorts with a boyish chuckle.

Carol squints her made-up eyes at him. She deadpans, “That’s not the comeback you think it is, Hagan.”

You turn to Steve with a panicked glimmer in your eye. You’re so used to being the butt of all their jokes that being in their proximity now fills you with something close to ice-cold dread. You peer at the boy beside you with pinched-together brows, knowing he’s the only one who cares about you past cheating off your homework.

“What’s going on?” you wonder quietly, for only him to hear.

Steve grins, brows raised and eyes twinkling. “My house is gonna be empty tonight. ‘Cause, you know, my dad’s got a work conference or whatever, so… No parents. Big house—”

“A total recipe for disaster,” Tommy interjects with a laugh.

“You’re throwing a party?” you ask, voice trembling. There’s little more that scares you than crowds — well, crowds and loud music and drunk people. Parties were never your scene. Steve knows that better than anyone.

He corrects you quickly, stammering over himself because he never wants you to feel uncomfortable. “No! No, not a party. It’s gonna be lowkey. Just a— a get-together, you know? Just the four of us.”

“Ooh,” Carol croons from behind you. “So no priss?”

“Shut up, Carol,” Steve snaps.

“I’m just used to you following her around like a lost puppy, that’s all.” Carol and Tommy laugh about it together. ‘Cause that’s all they’re really good at — making stupid jokes and cackling like supervillains.

Steve rolls his eyes with an annoyed huff and turns his attention back to you. You take it from him wholly, every ounce of his focus. 

There was something ethereal in your vagueness — in how softly you spoke and how pretty you looked when you weren’t even trying. You’re quiet and mysterious and hidden. Steve desperately wants to be the one that deciphers you.

“Are you in?” he asks in a low, honeyed tone.

Your gaze falls to the tile. “I don’t know…” you murmur.

“C’mon,” he croons and steps closer to you. His sneakers enter your vision until you look up at him again, peering at him from beneath your lashes. His grin is pink and pretty and lopsided. “Don’t leave me with these assholes all night.”

“Dick,” you hear Tommy scoff from behind you. He sounds much further away than that ‘cause all you can see now is Steve. And his pretty hair and his pretty eyes and his stupid pretty smile.

You cave instantly. 

You never really stood a chance, anyway. Not with the way he was looking at you.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble and turn back to your locker. You switch your English textbook for a History one and cradle it in your arms. Steve grins, knowing he’s forgotten his on purpose just so he could sit next to you all period.

“Good,” the boy hums.

“We’re finally wearing Wallflower down,” Carol muses, giggling to herself.

Tommy knocks you too hard on the shoulder. “You’ll be one of us in no time,” he grins.

You grimace as they walk off down the hall. That’s the last thing you’ve ever wanted. The thought of there being an ounce of similarities between you and them makes your stomach ache.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Steve tells you, smiling quietly when you nod. 

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and passes you a folded-up piece of paper. He doesn’t look back at you when he follows his friends down the corridor. You don’t open it until he’s gone.

West wing chem lab, he’s written in chicken scratch. Come find me. 

—————

The hallway at the west end of the school is dim and empty. The floors are untouched, and the lockers are sparingly opened. The air is thick and noticeably stale. You open the door to the old chemistry room with a high-pitched squeak that sounds like something out of a horror movie.

Steve waits for you in the dark classroom, lit only by the natural sunlight streaming in through translucent curtains. He sits at a table in front of the window and toys with the burner at the end of it. He turns the thin blue flame on and off and on again, silently wishing he’d plucked a cigarette from Tommy before he left.

His honey eyes flit to yours when you walk into the room. He grins at the soft smirk on your bitten lips. “What’s that look for, huh?” he teases, turning off the burner and sliding off the desk.

You shrug. “Nothin’…”

“I missed you.”

You scoff when he wraps his arms around you. His wide palms smooth over your back. “You just saw me.”

“It doesn’t count when I’m with Tommy and Carol. I need you all to myself…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs lowly, ducking down to kiss you. His plush lips lock with yours, tasting of nicotine and chewing gum — a near-lethal concoction. He smiles against your mouth when you melt further into him. He parts from you with a gentle smack.

“They’re starting to like me, I think,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over his chest. “Tommy and Carol.”

“I think so, too.”

“It’s awful.”

“Absolutely disgusting,” he concurs, grinning wide when you giggle.

“But, you know, maybe we wouldn’t have to hide anymore,” you stammer, gaze falling when it becomes too hard to hold his. “If they don’t think I’m, like, the lamest person on the planet.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that’s why you don’t want them to know about us, right? ‘Cause you’re King Steve, and I’m… fish bait,” you conclude with a forced laugh.

“No,” he answers instantly. “What? No. That’s not— That’s not why.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want them to know about us because they’re assholes,” Steve confesses. “I mean, they were awful to Nancy when we were together. ‘Cause they’re miserable, and they hate when other people are actually nice. I just don’t want them to… ruin anything, that’s all…”

You muss with a rogue thread at the neckline of his sweater and smile quietly to yourself. “I thought you were scared because you accidentally fell in love with the Wallflower instead of the Prom Queen.”

Steve scoffs. “I didn’t accidentally fall in love with you, first of all.”

“No?” you murmur, brow quirking in disbelief. 

“No, it was very intentional.”

“I don’t believe that,” you argue with a lighthearted chuckle. You think it’s easier than saying, I don’t believe you because there’s no way you love someone like me because you want to.

Steve’s palms squeeze your sides reassuringly, like he can hear all the mean thoughts swirling in your head. “Well, you didn’t make it any easier on me,” he tells you, a crooked smile tugging at his pink lips. “You started talkin’ all smart in Ms. Click’s class, and I started melting.”

“That’s when you knew you liked me?” you scoff. “After I gave a presentation about geopolitical tensions in China?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, licking his lips with heavy eyelids. “See what I mean? That’s hot.”

“God, you’re such a boy.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: bug turns one

[spicyicymeloncat]

Nightcord Kaito is actually my favourite virtual singer from project sekai. He’s so angry I love him. (I changed his hair to kinda resemble the character from the original Samsa mv)

#pulling myself from the depths of despair to finish this #i was working on an alternative sketch but I couldn't line it and it made me feel bad for days #but I'm glad this turned out okay #gahjsjskskskks #anyways I totally hyperfixated on the commissioned song from the immiscible discord event #Samsa #the name comes from the last name of the main character of the novel: Metamorphosis #which is a story of a man who becomes a bug and starves to death when he feels like he’s become a burden to his family #fucked up #i have so many thoughts about niigo Kaito #about how he’s probably the one vocaloid Mafuyu doesn’t like - because he’s a manifestation of the harsh reality she lives in #and maybe she sees him as an angry monstrous being (like in the song) and she’s afraid of being like him - or that she already is like him #and he’s not only angry at her mother but also angry at Mafuyu for her treatment and reflection of him #essentially he’s like a projection of her own self hatred in a way #he’s got a right to be angry but his anger is directed at himself/Mafuyu but in terms of him and Kanade he’s still a positive and #necessary force to acknowledge the truth of Mafuyu’s treatment #the event hasn’t even come out in English yet and I’m reading way to deep in between the lines lol #project sekai #Kaito #vocaloid Kaito #project sekai Kaito #niigo kaito #art #fanart #digital art #vocaloid

[queen-scribbles]

Y'know one thing they've changed in SWtOR that I miss aside from free QT?

Rep trophies stacking in your inventory until you choose to use them, instead of being instantly consumed when you complete a daily/loot them. Also, while we're at it, dailies resetting from when you turned them in rather than having a set time they reset.

#queen rambles #i sort of get the logic behind both changes #but i like the old way better #esp. turning in dailies #bc the old way i could have a swoop mission sitting untracked in my questlog and use it for quick transport to the event #can't do that now #or pick up all the missions for a weekly and do them as i have time #rather than have to go to the mission board every day to pick them up if i don't finish in one go #BUT the rep trophies #ugh #what if i don't WANT to use pulses on my rep boost for... ruhnuk rep bc i'm trying to max whatever the season track is? (for example) #i don't have multiple max level toons on every server #sometimes if i want the ruhnuk/manaan sweep there is one (1) person who can do it #and if they(tragen or endrali /cough) also are doing game/cold moon/master's army rep with the boost i waste like half of it #i know it's a little thing #and for events like swoop or bounty week i can work around it #but it sstill bugs me

[derpinette]

memory: when i was a toddler OMW back home with my mother on one of those intercity travel buses when we suddenly heard women screaming only for me to look down & see dozens upon dozens of cockroaches running up my legs & under my dress

#legitimately traumatized me for life #pretty sure i felt no way about bugs up until that point in fact beetles were my favorite to grab &play with in my kindergarten's... garten #sorry #there were hundreds of them running around everywhere on the floor. i have no recollection of what happened next or later that evening #apparently it was because of the hot weather & something about the bus that made it so that all those roaches escaped & dispersed everywher #still feel sickened when i hear that bus company to this day #Events That Formed My Sundowning Neurosis. soon as the lights dim i turn into a purely atavistic prey aminal #it happened again when i was with my cousin in the summer when my mother sent us out to get something from teh bodega #& my cousin was like trying to reassure me that no roaches were crawling up my legs but there actually were #it was just too dark to make out until we reached a lamp post O_O that was years & years ago BTW #IDC that they are harmless i wrote this post because there was one in my bathroom just now & all i could do was scream for help #apparently barely cos i was told it was a “pathetic scream” i was Paralyzed !!!! they were like what would you do if you lived by yourself #literally Die & let that thang take over my house IDKcaus i am not going anywhere near it #AUUURRRGHHHH go away pleeeaase. let Us be civil OK leave me alone please leave me alooone ( that one video ) #i have no fear of bees or wasps or whatever other ones libellules i forgot what the name was in english. oh dragonfly. Dope name. ETC ETC #sortof creepygirl tumblr 2009-2012 if you thinkabout it... ♯Swag

[atthebell-moved]

Another thing i wanna complain about at twitchcon sd: the bathrooms. Not about cleanliness or lines (i never waited in a line a single time) but gender inclusivity.

The convention center has never updated their bathrooms so they have only women's and men's restrooms (and likely some family & accessible one-stall rooms somewhere; i never saw them). Twitch, in a very sad attempt at inclusivity, slapped up trans/all-gender symbols (⚧️) next to each of these to say "all bathrooms are gender neutral/inclusive". Which is cool! If that were actually the case.

Instead it was just. Women's and men's bathrooms. And as is always the case in public places with gendered bathrooms, most non-binary people were just all using the women's bathrooms (including me) bc I'd rather feel a little weird than get harassed by random twitch bros for using their bathrooms.

So like. I guess they made an effort? And they worked with what they had, which was gendered bathrooms, but it was still a bit frustrating. Obviously the convention center and other venues need to work on this stuff but it would help if companies renting them out pushed for it.

#im passionate about gender neutral bathrooms you dont even know #ive been to two supposedly progressive universities ans i promise even the ones working on it fuck up all the time #twitchcon sd #also i did actually use the mens room once bc i wasnt paying attention #but that was the first day when there were way less twitch bros #and you cant just turn a mens restroom into a gn bathroom bc of all the urinals #theres never enough stalls and seeing a line of dudes at urinals is kind of a lot for people if they haven't used mens bathrooms a lot #idk this isnt even that big of a problem ive just worked in gender inclusivity and event planning so it bugged me #twitch hire me to fix your shit #dont actually i wont work for you #dream hire me for dreamcon ive literally planned this shit before #bell.txt #bell at twitchcon sd

[hannieehaee]

Hi!! Could you do a fic where Jeonghan is being the menace that he is, but his partner is the only one who can quell him with one look pls? Like he is just super soft w her and always listens cos he’s a simp?

content: simp!jeonghan, established relationship, afab reader, slightly suggestive, etc.

wc: 1156

a/n: this was based on that one scene from nana tour in which jeonghan basically waterboarded mingyu for absolutely no reason (ik he was on a mission but he drenched him ?!\>\£). hope u enjoy <3

masterlist

jeonghan was always known to be a bit of a menace by all his friends.

well, maybe even more than just his friends. after all, there was a reason why he was often called the loki of seventeen by many of his fans.

he was simply a bit unconventional in the ways in which he found entertainment, such as the time in which he berated dokyeom into searching for bugs for them to eat on the streets. he simply had a tendency for bugging his members (out of love, of course), becoming an extra obstacle in their lives just for the fun of it.

now, jeonghan also had a heart of gold and far too much love for his brothers to ever actually cause any harm to them. however, after over a decade of knowing his brothers, he had somehow conditioned them to accept his odd behaviors and simply go along with his shenanigans whenever he felt like acting up.

you, as well as his members, always found great entertainment in his weird behaviors. i mean, it takes a great man to be able to cheat his way through every single game without consequence.

despite finding humor in his ways, you would sometimes have a tendency to put a halt to it. a simple whine of 'hannie!' would have him stopping in his tracks and murmuring against your ear as he whined back but relented at you. what you didn't know, however, was that you were the only person who held this power over jeonghan (even his sister would occasionally fall victim to his menacing ways).

today was one of the many instances in which jeonghan grew bored while at practice, deiciding to wreck havoc just for the hell of it. it was easy for him to spot a victim, – it was usually mingyu – which then lead him to approach him with the illest of intentions. there was never much thinking that went into teasing his members. it was just second nature to him by now. so when he eyed the water bottle in mingyu's hand, even the other members who were standing nearby could see what jeonghan's next move would be.

he was patient with it; engaging in conversation as he usually would as to not draw suspicion. jeonghan realized in that moment that maybe his instincive need to bug mingyu for no reason might be something to look into, but that would come some other day. for now, he wanted a quick laugh.

jeonghan saw his opening the moment mingyu uncapped his bottle and brought it to his lips, taking advantage of his calculated proximity to tilt the end of the bottle in order to drench mingyu's face, causing the man to almost choke on the water he'd been drinking.

as expected, this began a mini war between the two boys, as five minutes later they were both attacking each other with any and every water bottle they could find in their vicinity, even going as far as causing collateral damage to a few of the other members. what jeonghan hadnt planned, however, was a sudden visit from you, who had walked in just as jeonghan squirted yet another water bottle directly at mingyu's face.

"jeonghan!", you scolded as soon as you were in earshot, "leave him alone, you got him all drenched!", you were now standing next to the group, frown on your face as you took in the scene.

"baby? what are you doing here? did you–"

"don't 'baby' me. why are you bugging mingyu again? look at him! he's completely wet."

"i got water in my eye!," whined the tall man, taking advantage of your defense for him.

by now, a few of the members nearby were snickering at the swift turn of events, entertained by not just the water fight but the way in which you immediately sided with mingyu rather than your boyfriend.

"i'm wet too! how do you know he didn't start it?", tried jeonghan, knowing full well that the idea was unconvincing.

"hannie, don't lie to me."

"okay, fine. i got bored, okay? it's just water, baby. it's fine. right, mingyu?"

"dude, you fucked up my hair," mingyu didnt seem truly offended, but more so wanting to feed the flames now that he had an opportunity. jeonghan could tell by the slight smirk on his face.

the frown remained on your face, continuing to come in mingyu's defense for some reason unknown to jeonghan.

"jeonghan, apologize to him."

"what?", his wide and incredulous eyes turned to look at you, ignoring the snort he was pretty sure seungkwan had just let out.

"you heard me."

"but–"

"hannie!"

"f– fine," like a petulant child, jeonghan turned to mingyu and gave him a forced smile, "i'm sorry for getting you wet, gyu."

"than–"

"thank you", you interrupted the man.

jeonghan couldnt help but feel scolded by you. it was rare that you actually ever went against his shenanigans, but he did know he could sometimes go a little extra hard on mingyu due to mingyu's disposition to put up with jeonghan with no complaint (usually even fighting back). he was a bit embarrassed by the way in which you sided with him and even berated him in front of his members, but he also knew he could never say no to you, so apologizing just seemed logical to him.

after a few moments of him whining at his members to mind their business and go get their own girlfriends, he dragged you away to a less polluted corner of the practice room to get some one-on-one with you.

"babyyyy," he immediately pouted at you, proceeding to attaching to you like a bear, burying his head into your neck.

"hannie, you're all wet!", you complained despite making no move to push him away, even wrapping your arm around him and running a hand through his damp hair.

"why'd you have to do that? the boys are supposed to think you're obsessed with me," he frowned against your neck.

despite the whine behind his words, you could feel the vibration of his giggles against you and the smile pressed against your neck. as per usual, he was just whining because he could; something which you always found an endearing result to any rare instance in which you'd scold him.

"they're all gonna think im a simp now," he continued.

you giggled at that, causing him to sway you back and forth as he buried himself even deeper against you.

"are you not?", you inquired.

"i am, but they dont need to know that!"

"you're so annoying ..."

"yeah, but you find it fun, don't you?"

"im not at liberty of releasing that information."

he laughed against your neck, reaffirming to himself how much he liked the back and forth between the two of you, even if it meant relenting to you every single time, earning himself the title of simp among his members.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen #svt #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fluff

[ohbother2]

Okay….Adam sfw and nsfw headcanons? I cannot believe I have begun to simp after this trashbag DAMN YOU ALEX BRIGHTMAN-

I have an admission... I fucking love Adam pls keep sending Adam requests in I can't get enough of this man

Also, sorry I've been MIA, I've got a lot of deadlines coming up so updates will be more spaced out over the next few weeks :)

I love Adam but he's quite difficult to write, so pls lmk what you guys think! I tried to keep him in character! (This was far longer than planned lol I just love this man)

NSFW - Minors DNI

---

Adam x f!reader - General Headcannons

SFW

You'd been in heaven for many decades, possibly even centuries, before you had ever even entered Adam's radar

He was the 'original dick', as he liked to constantly remind everyone within shouting distance, and spent all of his time surrounded by the higher-ups of Heaven, attending meetings, court-hearings, and dealing with training his danger-tits army for the next extermination

It would take a lot to enter his radar, having to work your way into the correct circles, gain the right connections and attend the right events

But once you're in the circumference of society he haunts, you're on his radar immediately

He's a man with fine tastes, look at his previous wives, he has a type ("fucking bombshells" as he would describe them) and as soon as he sees you in his peripheral one afternoon he's zoned in and absolutely entranced

No one has ever said no to him before, so when you do, he's taken aback. Hiding his confusion and deep-rooted offence with a flippant comment "Oh, playing the hard to get game, babe? Lucky for you I fucking love the chase."

Inwardly, he's fucking fuming, why on earth would you reject him? Alas, he's sure he'll win you over eventually... right?

He's arrogant, he's cocky, he's a self-entitled piece of shit, but he's also determined, passionate, and is anything but a quitter

You will not know peace for months after your reject him

He'll storm into your office whenever he feels like it - which is whenever he has enough free time to do so - bugging you relentlessly as you try and finish your work. He never stops asking questions about you: your day, your hobbies, your love life, what're you doing after work tonight? He's free, he could take you somewhere nice, show you a real fun time

When you stop answering he starts bitching about his day to you, about the local gossip, about some Seraphim that pissed him off, about some bitch at the bar, which he could totally take you to, did he mention he was free tonight?

He doesn't just hound you at work, and you often find yourself coming to a screeching halt in the street and abruptly turning the other way when you spot his iconic mask - he's a tall man, his horns poking noticeably above the crowd as he tries to find any excuse to find and talk to you

When he gets really desperate, after months and months of unsuccessful attempts of gaining your attention, he finally turns to Lute with the all too familiar question "You're a woman, right? What do you-"

The advice she gives is not one he is happy to receive, 'stay away and tone it the fuck down', but he listens, ego taking a massive hit as he watches you carry on as normal

Funnily enough, you start to miss the annoying dick, and you begin to look forward to his far less frequent visits, which mainly consist of you both bumping into each other at work and making polite conversation

When he really can't take it anymore, and he happens to hear rumour about another man planning on asking you on a date, he practically breaks down your office door with a bouquet of flowers, thrusting them unhappily into your hands and asking incredibly politely for you to please go on a date with him

You're both surprised when you agree, and he can feel his face heating up beneath his mask as he whoops, calling a "I knew you'd come around babe, I'll pick you up at 8 tonight. Can't wait to see what you wear." over his shoulder as he bustles back out of your office, practically vibrating until he can tell Lute the news

He's 'The Original Man', and once you become his girl there is nothing he wouldn't do for you - he's constantly swinging by your office and pulling away the less important paperwork, commenting that he can get one of his workers to do it and freeing up time for you both to hang out; he's constantly flying through your balcony with bags of some new takeaway and chatting about this amazing new food place he found as he drops the heavy bags on your counter; someone causing you trouble? If he can't personally deal with it due to some 'relationship' he has to upkeep, he's sure to inform Lute who will have the situation handled before sunset that same day

Basically, he has authority in Heaven, and he's going to use that to make your life as easy as possible

Having a bad day? He can fix that. Oh, not in the mood for sex? Well, he's an amazing cuddle buddy, and he has the softest wings, let him just grab some snacks from the kitchen and then get ready for a night on the sofa wrapped in his strong arms and soft wings

His wings are insanely soft, and big, and despite his best efforts, no matter how long you've both been dating, they will flutter if he hasn't seen you in an extended amount of time, or if you're wearing something particular nice - he can't control it and it thoroughly ruins his bad-boy persona

You're the only other person beside Lute who he feels comfortable with letting preen his wings, and after you start officially dating he only comes to you with the issue, batting his eyelashes and pleading with you to 'take care of him'. You do, and he always breaks his promise not to 'make it weird' until you give him a firm smack on the back of his head - he's fallen asleep more times than you can count with your hands in his wings

He returns the favour, of course, and he sticks to his word like a gentleman, hands remaining firmly against your wings and not daring to wander. He's not a saint, however, and he will whisper less-than-holy things in your ear as he works - he'll stop if you don't play along, and finds himself enjoying the innocent intimacy of it. If you do play along? Oh, boy, his hands don't stay on your wings for long

He uses his wings a lot in his body language, and in your initial stages of courting he'll constantly puff them out to make him seem bigger, trying to impress you with his sheer size - embarrassingly for you, it works

PDA is not approved of in heaven, so he has to maintain his distance from you in public but that is a completely different matter in private

He will take every opportunity to touch you, innocently, whether that be a had on your jaw to bring your attention back to him or to guide your gaze wherever he wants you to look, a hand on your bicep to pull you this way and that, a large hand between your shoulder blades if you're being too slow

In public, completely subconsciously, whichever wing is closest to you will outstretch, barely noticeable to the majority of people, corralling you in closer to his side, and protecting you from whatever might happen - there's no danger in heaven, but still, he likes to know you're safe, and his wings reflect that desire

In private, he's constantly got a hand on you, oftentimes both, on your arms, your shoulders, your waist, the small of your back, your thighs, fucking anywhere - he likes having you on his chest on the sofa, and he finds it funny when he tries to do the same and crushes the air from your lungs

He loves when you cook and he can just stand behind you with his chin propped on your head or shoulder and his arms around your waist. You constantly have to tell him off for whispering foul things in your ear, but he quickly shuts up when you threaten to send him away, his grip tightening against you as he pouts playfully and watches silently

He will actively stretch out his wing when it's cold or windy or rainy, shielding you from the elements with his large wings and loving the excuse to pull you close. "What're they gonna say babe? I'm just keeping you dry."

The biggest difficulty in your domestic lives is the housework, he's an old fashioned man and he's never really had to do housework before. He's gotten better throughout your relationship, but he still absolutely hates washing dishes, but he'll happily sit in the kitchen and keep you company and talk mindlessly as he watches you work. He always thanks you with a kiss

If you ever make him do it, expect to be sat on the counter right next to him and no you cannot leave until he's done and yes you will listen to him complain the entire time and yes he will always slap your ass with a wet hand as payback, cackling as you yell half-heartedly

Deep down, incredibly deep, oceanic levels of deep, past the many many levels of crude jokes and brash humour, of over-compensating confidence and attempted witty one-liners, past the smirk and the puffed chest and the domineering presence, is a man who is cripplingly doubtful and insecure - two of his wives have left him for the same man, and he's absolutely terrified (but would rather burn in the fiery pits of hell than ever admit it) that it's going to happen again

He can seem rude and brash and uncaring, but he really is trying his best, and he's desperate to prove to you, in his own way, how much he really cares (He's scared to admit even to himself how much losing you would crush him)

Because of this, no event is ever half-assed - it's your birthday? He's got the biggest cake he can find and he's made some of his exterminators set up a surprise birthday party for you. It's your anniversary? He's pretending he's forgotten until the morning of and suddenly you've got a reservation at one of the nicest and most in-demand places in all of Heaven

"Come on, sugar," He'd reprimand you mockingly, shit-eating grin on his face at your excitement "you really thought I'd forget my special girl?"

He can doubt himself sometimes, worrying about your feelings for him, but he hides his insecurities whenever you catch him in deep-thought with some lame sex-joke

He doesn't ever want to talk about his insecurities, and he'll never outright tell you what he fears more than anything, but you pick up on it after enough time together

You don't pry, but you do card your hands through his hair when you see his eyes go particularly glossy one afternoon, pressing a kiss to his temple and scratching at his scalp, making your way slowly to his wings and back and taking your sweet time. He closes his eyes and listens to you ramble about your day, which eventually turns into you rambling about him, how handsome he is, how hard he works, and how much you love him and how you don't know what you'd do without him

He doesn't realise it, but you say just the rights things he needs for him to regain that pep in his step and for his cocky words to have more meaning behind them

NSFW

He's the Original Dick, and you'd hope he had the goods to back up the talk with the amount of bragging he does

He does; he does have the goods, and some would say he's being humble because what the fuck

He's the oldest human in history - he's seen it all, done it all twice, and he's more than willing to share some of his tricks with you

He's too proud and self-centred to ever let you have complete control, but when he's particularly lazy he'll let you go on top (as rare as this occasion is) but he'll still guide you as best as he can, lifting you easily with his strong arms and sweet-talking you with his sharp tongue

The first time you ever see him without his god-awful mask is during an intimate moment - you're first intimate moment, where you downright refused to continue if he didn't take the cursed thing off his face

Again, he's insecure, and it takes a lot of reassurance and just the right amount of kisses on his jaw and neck for him to be convinced that taking his mask off was worth it

He lets you look at him for several moments, and then he's had enough and he took his mask off for a fucking reason and he's pulling you into his lap and kissing you properly for the fist time

You can compliment him later, he has other things on his mind right now, the main one being fucking you until you can't even conjure a coherent thought

After that encounter he slowly takes his mask off in private with you more and more, learning to appreciate how nice it was to be able to kiss your temple and actually feel you against his lips, as well as how nice it was to feel your lips against his cheek

Still keeps the mask on sometimes, especially when you ask so nicely

He absolutely loves receiving head, resting back in his office chair or against the back of the sofa and letting you get to work, grunts and groans falling from his lips as his hands grip your hair tightly and guide you exactly how he wants you

He will give head as well, he's not selfish by any means, but he much prefers kissing you as you fall apart beneath him - for him, he'd much rather swallow your screams and mutter dirty things in your ear as he brings you to release

Be careful with his wings, especially when he lets you preen them - gentle touches can easily be misinterpreted as passionate caresses and before you know it you're pinned on your back with a red-faced and disheveled looking Adam hovering above you, muttering about how you're a "fucking tease" and if "you wanted it so bad all you had to do was ask, sugar. I'll never leave you wanting."

He knows the power of wings, and his heavy touches against your own when he needs to "Just sliding past babe, what's that fucking look for? Can't a man work?" are no accident. He loves getting you all wound up. He takes it as a personal challenge to do it in public, and his shit-eating grin remains the entire day before he's pressing you against the door of his office or your plush bed and muttering about how fucking needy you are.

He doesn't take being teased well, and he'll glare at you the entire time until he can do something about it - he'll have even less patience than usual, especially for people who aren't you, and often has to do damage-control after he's regained his bearings a few hours later

He's a big man, and he uses that to his full advantage, man-handling you with ease, positioning you exactly where he wants you, pinning both of your wrists easily with only one of his large hands, pushing your legs apart like butter

He can lift you easily, and he'll hold you against the wall, or countertop, or wherever the fuck you guys are, and he'll keep you there until he's done

Lute has walked in on you both far too many times, and she always hurtles back out of the door cursing at you both angrily

He likes pinning you beneath him, spreading his wings over your forms and completely shrouding you with his form - you're fucking his, and no one else will take that from him

He fucking loves dirty talk, and it's a challenge to get him to shut up - he'll carry on talking at you long after you're able to respond, and he'll just start talking about that instead: "Aw, look at you, can't even fucking say my name you're so fucking dumb for this c-"

As said before, he's insecure based on the way he lost his two previous wives and the reflects into the bedroom

If you do degrade him, he'll just challenge you, telling you you've obviously not learnt your fucking lesson and picking up the pace, desperate to prove he's the exact opposite of whatever had just spilled from your mouth - you'll pay for trying to goad him on, he won't relent until you're a babbling shaking mess, stuttering out apologies and taking back everything you had just dared to say to him

Any praise you offer him he absolutely laps up. Call him handsome, tell him your his, tell him there's no one else in the world who would ever compared to him, how good he's fucking you - he'll get so wrapped up in the praise he'll even stop talking, completely focussed on his task of making you feel good, making sure you know there's no one else who could give you what he does

Dig your hands into his wings and he becomes a groaning mess, and it'll only be a few seconds of you muttering those sweet praises in his ears and your nails digging into his wings before he's collapsing on top of you and panting raggedly, still trying to mutter out curses and praises through his gruff gasping

When he really loses control his wings will flap of their own accord, and you've had to completely clear your side tables because he kept accidentally smashing everything that was on them

He likes to rest afterwards, and he usually tries to encourage you into going another round.

He'll tug you into his sweaty side, pulling you half onto his chest as he breathes deeply, immediately asking if you enjoyed it, and when you agree, he'll always mutter something along the lines of "Of course you fucking did, it's me."

#hazbin hotel #Hazbin Hotel adam #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel x reader #Hazbin Hotel Adam #Hazbin Hotel Adam x reader #Adam x reader #lute #Hazbin Hotel lute #Hazbin Hotel smut #Adam smut #Hazbin Hotel Adam smut #Hazbin Hotel x reader smut #smut

[thehunniestofbunnies]

I've managed to freak myself out while home alone

#aj talks #ive done it to myself i got on a creepypasta kick today #and im only wearing one of my contacts bc i cant find my glasses but my contact was bugging me #so im basically half blind rn #and noones home but me and my dog so all the lights are off except for in my room #i got up to go to the bathroom and i swear i caught movement out of the corner of my eye from my sisters room #but it was on the side im not wearing a contact on #but it cant be my dog bc shes in my room #im hyping myself up to turn on the light in her room just to make sure noones in there im pretty sure theres not but man #its just an unfortunate series of events

[scuderiahoney]

Sweet Like Grenadine

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You love weddings. However, you don’t love being stuck by yourself at a wedding, a plus one to a boyfriend who’s too busy for you. Enter Daniel Ricciardo, your knight in shining armor.

Word Count: 5.6k

a/n: thought of this concept and couldn’t get Danny out of my head. He’s soooo guy you flirt with at a wedding and will probably never see again coded

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild sexual content (heavy makeout? idrk how to tag this stuff), one (1) shitty boyfriend

The table in front of you is draped with a heavy white tablecloth. At the center is a large bouquet of flowers, the number 19 stuck haphazardly in the middle of it. Not last, but certainly low on the list. You can’t blame them- you barely know the bride and groom.

You’re only here because your boyfriend is a groomsman. A plus one. You love weddings, so of course you’d agreed, but you hadn’t really considered how lonely an event like this could be. The only person you really know has been busy all day. You can’t complain, won’t complain, you know that’s why he’s here, but…

You’re sitting at a table full of strangers. It’s not exactly fun. There’s still hours left of this. Dinner hasn’t even been served, there’s still speeches and cake and dancing and honestly, you’re already exhausted. You need a drink, but the bar isn’t open yet. You need to take off your heels, but you’re pretty sure that would be frowned upon. You need to talk to your boyfriend.

He’s busy, though. He told you as much when you found him between the ceremony and the reception. There’s a pang in your chest still at the way he brushed you off, the way he told you he didn’t have time to chat. You get it, you really do. You’re not going to get upset about it.

The seat to your left has been empty since you sat down, but someone collapses into it, letting out a heavy sigh. You turn to look, hoping for some sort of familiar face or at least a friendly one, and you’re met with-

“Hi. ‘M Daniel,” he says, sticking his hand out to shake yours.

The thing is, Daniel is a familiar face, but not for any of the reasons you’d hoped for. You know Daniel because your boyfriend is obsessed with Formula 1. You try to keep up so you can take part in his conversations, but it’s never really been your thing. But you know enough to know Daniel Ricciardo.

“Yeah, I… I know,” you say, before you slap your hand over your mouth. “Shit! I’m sorry. That’s weird. S’just- my boyfriend’s a huge fan-“

You swear his face drops slightly, but he plasters that grin right back on before he says, “and you’re not a fan?”

“I’m not not a fan,” you say. “He’s just the bigger fan. Of the two of us.”

Daniel nods. You finally shake his hand. He never stops looking at you, never stops smiling. You tell him your name, and he repeats it back to you, his accented version making you smile.

“Well, is he here? I’d love to meet the bigger of the two fans,” he says. “We talking, like, box fan, industrial blower, air boat fan? How big?”

You laugh, his hand squeezing yours as you lean over the table. He’s laughing, too, then, before he lets go of your hand. You want to crawl out of your skin, want to run and hide in the bathroom, because you’re definitely making a fool of yourself, but-

“Oh, he’s busy,” you say, waving your hand in the air dismissively. “He’s one of the groomsmen, got a lot on his plate. I don’t wanna bug him. He’s the one with the sunglasses on,” you say, pointing at him at the head table.

Daniel looks where you point and quirks his brow. “Guy like that has a girl like you and you’re the one worried about bugging him?”

You stare at him with wide eyes. He collapses into a fit of laughter again, and you follow suit. You don’t know what else to do. Then he nudges your knee with his, under the table, and juts his chin towards the bar.

“D’you want a drink?” He asks.

“The bar isn’t open yet,” you say.

“So?”

“So, how are you going to get a drink?”

He shakes his head and purses his lips. “Oh, sweetheart, you just watch and learn. What’re you having?”

You shrug. “A soda, I guess. I’m the designated driver for at least three of the groomsmen.”

Daniel sighs heavily. “You poor thing. You keep making me feel worse and worse for you. Alright, I’ll get you something.”

He strides his way up to the bar, which has a very obvious “Closed” sign on the countertop. There’s a single bartender behind it, and he’s cleaning glasses. You watch with entertainment as Daniel leans on the counter, exuding confidence and charm. The bartender shakes his head. Daniel counters. The man behind the bar shrugs and nods. Then he steps through a door for just a moment. When he returns, he has two drinks in his hands- one that’s obviously a beer, and one that’s bright pink. Daniel smiles, thanks the man, and walks the cups back to you.

He sets it down in front of you with a flourish before he takes a seat.

“I told you, I’m DD,” you remind him.

He nods, taking a sip of his beer before he says, “Shirley Temple.”

“Oh my god,” you say, a grin washing over your face. You pick up the cup and take a sip, sighing at the sweet taste of ginger ale and grenadine. “How did you know?”

“Everyone loves a good Shirley,” he says, elbowing you lightly. “And you can’t drink just plain soda at a wedding.”

They announce dinner shortly after that, and the waiters start bringing plates out. You’re starving, having been up early to help with last minute wedding things at your boyfriend’s request. You hadn’t had time to eat lunch. You chat with Daniel through the meal. The two of you talk about the food, about the wedding, about the decor. There are other people at the table, but they’re all incredibly boring in comparison. Daniel, on the other hand, could hold your attention forever, probably.

You sneak glances at your boyfriend, surrounded by his friends at the head table. He’d promised to sneak away as soon as he got a chance. He hasn’t even looked your way. You're trying to ignore the hurt deep in your chest. Daniel is sneaking glances at you sneaking glances at the bridal party. You’re trying to ignore that, too.

“How long have you two been dating?” Daniel asks.

“About 6 months,” you say with a smile.

It feels forced. Frankly, the last thing you want to talk about right now is your boyfriend. They’re clearing the last plates. He’s at his table, three beers in by your count, not a care in the world. He promised. Daniel opens his mouth, likely to ask another question about your boyfriend, but you speak first.

“So wait, are you here for the bride or the groom?” You ask.

“The bride,” Daniel says , a soft smile on his face. “An old family friend. I’m representing the Ricciardos.”

You smile. “That’s sweet.”

Before he can say anything in response, someone is tapping on a microphone. It’s time for the speeches. You know your boyfriend isn’t making one, which is good. He’s not exactly the best public speaker, especially when he’s been drinking. You and Daniel settle in to listen.

He sneaks away between the maid of honor and the best man, patting the back of your hand and whispering about being right back. He returns a few moments later, another beer and a Shirley Temple in his hands. You smile gratefully at him, and he waves you off. Then the next speech is starting, and you’re rolling your eyes at the way the best man talks about marriage like it’s some awful idea.

“He knows this is a wedding, yeah?” Daniel asks out of the side of his mouth, leaning towards you.

You shrug. “That one started drinking at 9am. I’m not sure he even knows what year it is right now.”

Daniel starts laughing, then. Luckily, the rest of the crowd does too- apparently, the best man has just made an extremely funny joke. Daniel is only looking at you, though, and you can’t help but laugh just because of the look on his face.

When the first dances are over and the music starts, you sink low into your seat. Your boyfriend has still not made an appearance. He definitely knows where you’re sitting, he had told you so earlier. You’re sure he’s busy, but you’d looked away for too long, talking to Daniel, and now he’s disappeared from the head table. You scan the crowd, hoping to see his face. All the while, you can feel Daniel watching you.

“We could go dance,” he suggests.

You sink lower in your seat. “I don’t really like dancing.”

That’s a lie. You love dancing, especially at weddings. You love the cheesy songs they always play, you love the atmosphere, you love watching the bride and groom have fun and getting to be a part of it. But you know how it would look if you went out on the dance floor with Daniel, and your boyfriend definitely won’t be joining you. As frustrated as you may be with your him, you don’t want to cause drama at someone else’s best day of their lives.

“I think I might try and find him,” you say, picking up your drink.

Daniel nods. “Want me to come with you?”

You look around at the rest of the table and find it empty. You shake your head and lean towards him, close enough that you almost knock your foreheads. Nobody’s watching the two of you or trying to listen anyways, but it’s more fun this way.

“He promised he’d find me before dinner,” you whisper conspiratorially. “That obviously didn’t happen. So I’m not bringing you to him as a reward for bad behavior.”

Daniel sits back in his chair and smiles at you, one brow raised. “Atta girl!”

You stand up from your chair and hope he can’t tell that your face has grown hot from that comment alone.

Even if you can’t find your boyfriend, it’s probably best that you get some space from Daniel. Through the last hour or so of your conversation, you’ve been catching yourself leaning towards him and then reminding yourself that you have a boyfriend. It’s just that he’s being so nice, and that you’re feeling so down about the whole thing. He’s comforting, which is fine. But it can’t be more than that.

You find your boyfriend at one of the bars, leaning on the counter and talking loudly with one of the other groomsmen. He’s drunk already- he should really slow down if he wants to last the night. You walk over to him, forcing a soft smile onto your face. You can’t confront him now, not in front of his friend and all the people waiting for drinks.

“Hey, babe,” you say, tapping his shoulder lightly as you walk up.

He turns. You wait for him to smile at you, but it never comes. Your stomach sinks.

“Hey,” he says, nonchalantly. “D’you need something?”

Your palms feel clammy. “Oh, no, I’m good! Just… wanted to say hi. S’been a bit.”

He nods. “Yeah. I told you I’d be busy tonight.”

His friend just stands there and listens. Your skin feels hot, and your eyes begin to sting.

“I know,” you say. “I’m not trying to bug you, I just- I was just walking by. Just. Yeah. That’s all. I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll come find you in a bit, baby,” he promises.

You don’t bother believing him this time.

Daniel doesn’t comment on your red eyes or the tear tracks on your cheeks when you return to the table. He just squeezes your arm and disappears for a moment, then comes back with yet another Shirley Temple. You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so you just take a sip of the drink instead.

“You don’t have to sit here with me,” you say to Daniel. “I’m definitely pulling down the mood.”

“Are you joking?” He says. “You’re the best thing at this party.”

You laugh, then, because the statement is so ridiculous that you can’t help it. He sounds so serious, and when you turn to look at him there’s no hint of teasing on his face. He just elbows your arm lightly again.

“Come on, we don’t have to dance but we’re not sitting here all night,” he says. “Let’s go wander.”

He stands from the table and tugs at your chair. You give in and stand up too, taking your drink from the table. You follow him as he weaves through the throngs of people. You like wandering. Wandering is a perfectly sensible thing to do with the guy you just met. At the wedding your boyfriend is a groomsman at. What else are you supposed to do, anyways?

He leads you past the dance floor, which you try not to look at forlornly. There are large glass doors at the back of the hall. He swings one open, holding it for you, waving you through with a flourish of his hand. Outside, it’s lit up with string lights. There’s a wide rolling lawn of grass, with fire pits and chairs spread out everywhere. There are lawn games, too- beanbags and horseshoes and a giant version of Jenga.

You can burn a lot of time out here. You barely even notice when Daniel slips his hand around your wrist to gently pull you with him. You should feel guilty about it. Your boyfriend is somewhere inside. But that same boyfriend has also been ignoring you all night. Daniel is just being friendly. You follow him to one of the fire pits with a smile on your face.

You and Daniel are nearly two hours into wandering when someone calls your name. You look up from where you’ve been staring at the beanbag board, trying to line up your throw just right. You’d been on the verge of winning for the first time. For an Australian, Daniel is surprisingly good at American lawn games. Frustratingly good, even.

It’s your boyfriend, calling you from the doorway of the reception hall. You sigh and drop the beanbag onto the ground near your feet. Two of the other groomsmen are hanging off of him, looking worse for the wear. One of them has something down the front of his shirt- you pray it’s not vomit.

“I think that’s my cue,” you say, nodding towards the building.

“You could always put them in a cab and hope they figure it out on their own.” Daniel says. You give him a skeptical look. “Kidding, kidding.”

“It’s tempting,” you admit.

Daniel bends over and picks up your heels from where they lay in the grass. You’d kicked them off as soon as you stepped into the soft grass outside. You slip the shoes back on and wince. Then you stick your hand out to him, palm open.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you,” you say, as he shakes your hand once more. “Thanks for not leaving me all alone.”

Daniel laughs. “I will be your ‘I-know-nobody-at-this-event-‘ partner anytime you want, sweetheart. Just give me a call. I’ll be there.”

You know what he’s trying to do. The opportunity is right there in front of you. He’s telling you to give him a call- this is where you ask for his number. But you have a boyfriend. You can justify hanging out with him, especially considering you had nothing else to do, but asking for his number feels a step too far.

You smile softly and drop his hand. “Goodnight, Daniel.”

You turn and make your way towards your boyfriend. He’s already complaining before you’re even within ten feet of him, about how he’s tired and he looked everywhere for you and how could you disappear like that? You apologize, just to quiet him down. You usher the three men inside before you turn to look at Daniel one more time.

He’s standing there, watching you, a sad smile on his face.

“Who was that guy?” Your boyfriend asks later, from the passenger seat of the car.

You look at him, at his eyes. The light is gone- he’s blacked out, there’s no way he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“Daniel Ricciardo,” you say.

It’s a testament to how drunk he is that he doesn’t even react.

You get all three guys into bed, including your boyfriend. You lay down next to him, as much as you don’t want to. There’s not really anywhere else to sleep in the little hotel room, and you’re not sleeping on the floor. When you close your eyes, you can’t fall asleep, plagued by thoughts of if you’d made the right choice, unable to erase Daniel’s sad smile from your memory.

…..

You love weddings. You remind yourself of that over and over again as you pin a dress in place for the hundredth time that day. Your best friend Natalie is a bridesmaid, it’s her sister who’s getting married, and you’re here to help in any way you can. So far, that’s included safety pinning, making a run for alcohol, checking on the floral delivery, checking to make sure the groomsmen are where they’re supposed to be, and comforting a bridesmaid who was crying in the bathroom. Her boyfriend had broken up with her the night before.

“Men are shit,” you’d told her in commiseration.

By the time the ceremony rolls around, you’re relieved to have a chance to sit down. You check on the bridesmaids one last time and head into the church. The pews are packed with people, so you find a spot near the back and sit down. You sigh in relief.

The music starts playing, and you finally take a chance to look around. The pews are decorated with flowers, there’s bright light streaming through the large windows. The groom waits up front, eyes already watering. You love weddings. You say it like a mantra in your head.

As the procession starts, you scan the crowd. You know more people at this wedding, having been friends with the family for a while. You’ll at least have some company at your table. You spot a couple friends from high school, a cousin you’ve met a few times, some mutual friends who you’ll definitely have to catch up with later. And then, in the third row on the groom’s side, you see dark curly hair that looks terrifyingly familiar.

It can’t be him. That would be absolutely insane. There’s absolutely no way Daniel Ricciardo is attending a second wedding in the US, for a couple who are no more famous than the previous wedding you’d seen him at. It would make absolutely no sense. And yet, you can’t stop staring at the back of this man’s head, the slope of his shoulders beneath his dark suit. You remember that wedding, months ago, resting your hand on his shoulder for balance as you took off your heels. He’d joked about having to cut you off, holding your Shirley Temple in his hand.

When the bridal procession begins playing, everyone stands. You keep your eyes on him. He turns, and your heart skips a beat in your chest. It’s Daniel. It’s impossible, it’s irrational, but it is him. You’d recognize him anywhere.

You force yourself to look away, to turn towards the bride. She looks beautiful, perfect, the picture of elegance. The flowers in her hands, the ones you’d checked on that morning, are perfect too. You breathe a sigh of relief. She really should’ve hired a wedding coordinator. Maybe you should be a wedding coordinator.

When you go to sit back down, you sneak a glance at Daniel. He’s looking over his shoulder at you, eyes wide. You meet his gaze and your cheeks feel hot. That wide, bright grin breaks out across his face. You grin right back.

When the ceremony is over, and they’re officially Mr and Mrs, the whole wedding disperses out onto the lawn of the church. There are shuttles to take you to the reception, but everyone seems content to mingle outside in the fresh air. You’re one of the first ones out, but you’re quickly swept up in the crowd. You search for Daniel in every face that passes. You find Natalie first, though.

“Nat,” you say frantically. “Does your sister know Daniel Ricciardo?”

Her brow furrowed for a second. “What?”

“Danny Ricciardo,” you repeat, keeping your voice low. “The F1 driver. He’s here.”

“Oh,” Natalie says, brows raising. “Yeah, he’s like, friends with her fiancé- oh, her husband! Shit, I forgot that you watch that stuff- or, you… did? I can probably try and introduce you-“

“No, we- we’ve met.” You admit. She’s the first person you’re telling about this. “At that wedding like 6 months ago.”

She tilts her head at you. Her eyes go wide. She says your name in a bewildered tone.

“Are you telling me that the mystery wedding man, who you definitely should’ve dumped your boyfriend for, was fucking Danny Ricciardo?”

“Keep it down!” You shush her.

“Oh my god,” she says, a conspiratorial smirk crossing over her face. “And he’s here.”

Someone calls your name. You know that voice- it’s haunted you since you left that wedding. You turn over your shoulder as Natalie grabs your wrist and lets out a squeak.

“Danny,” you breathe, like a sigh of relief. “Hi.”

He strides up to you, handsome as ever, grinning so widely it looks like it hurts. “This is fucking insane.”

An elderly aunt glares at him. He makes an apologetic face before turning back to you and shrugging. He steps into your space, so close you can smell his cologne. He’s staring down at you through his lashes. The look in his eyes is so soft and warm that you think you’re melting.

“The bride is my best friend’s sister,” you explain, gesturing at Natalie. “This is Natalie.”

“I’m friends with the groom,” he says, reaches his hand out and shakes Natalie’s hand. “I’m Danny, nice to meet you.”

She nods, and suddenly you’re very afraid. Natalie doesn’t have much of a filter, especially in high pressure situations. Especially when she’s been forced to be prim and proper all morning.

“You must really like American weddings,” she says, and you wince. “I hear this is your second one in 6 months.”

Daniel smirks, raises his eyebrows at you. “Huh. Wonder what else you’ve heard about me.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but you shove her shoulder. “Nat, aren’t you supposed to be taking family pictures?”

She’s so busy staring at Daniel she almost doesn’t hear you. Then her eyes go wide. She swears loudly, earning a glare from the same aunt. Then she drops your wrist and takes off through the crowd.

You turn towards Daniel. “Sorry about her.”

He shakes his head. “No need. She seems sweet.”

You smile. “She is.”

“Makes sense, since she’s friends with you,” he says. “The sweetest of them all.”

You laugh, shove at his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Behind him, people are starting to get on the shuttles. He’s leaning towards you, eyes still lit up.

“I honestly can’t believe this,” he says.

“Neither can I,” you admit. “It’s.. it’s really good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you,” he echoes. “Feels like a sign, doesn’t it?”

You open your mouth to agree, to tell him what you’ve been thinking the past 6 months, but Natalie is calling your name. You and Daniel both turn to look at her, and the look on her face tells you she’s so sorry. You sigh and shrug.

“I have to go,” you tell him. “That bridal party is a mess.”

“Worse than the last one?” He asks.

“No,” you say. “And I don’t have to drive any of them home, so that’s a bonus. But I think I’ll be billing them for wedding coordinator expenses after this. Or at the very least, drinking enough at the open bar to make up for it.”

Daniel laughs. “Atta girl. Should I save you a seat on the shuttle?”

You let out a puff of air. “I’m riding over with the bridal party.”

His face falls in disappointment. “Okay. Find me when you get there, yeah? I’ll have a Shirley Temple waiting for you.”

You nod. “Make it a Dirty Shirley, would you?”

He nods eagerly and squeezes your arm.

You don’t actually make it into the reception until nearly an hour later. There’s an emergency with a groomsman’s tux, and the girl who was broken up with the night before is crying again. Nothing that can’t be fixed with safety pins and tequila, but it still takes time. You check your name on the seating chart, sigh at the sight of the name next to yours, the seat that will stay empty. You find Daniel’s seat, too, a few tables over from yours. You head there first.

Daniel is sitting, a beer in hand and a very watery Shirley Temple on the table in front of him. He’s chatting with the man sitting next to him, who looks a bit starstruck. He perks up when he sees you, reaching for your drink. You take it happily and have a sip, tasting ginger ale, grenadine, and vodka, too.

“The ice is a bit melted,” he says with a sigh. “But good news! Ian here has offered to switch seats with you.”

Ian is looking between you and Daniel, eyes wide. You’re sure he did offer, likely after Daniel had told him the whole crazy story, or at least enough to convince him. You watched him charm bartenders at the last wedding- he has a way with words. Ian starts to stand up.

“That’s really not necessary.” You say, and Daniel’s face falls. “There’s an empty seat at my table.”

He lifts his brows, grinning again. His brown eyes stare deep into your own. He stands up without waiting another moment, handing you your drink and holding his own.

“Ian, nice meeting you,” he says. “I’ll still get you those paddock passes,” he promises, and you bite back a laugh. “See ya ‘round, mate.”

He follows you to your table. There’s a setting with your name on a little card, and the empty setting next to it with another name on it. You grab that card and crumple it in your hand, shoving it into your purse. He quirks a brow but sits down anyways as you greet the others at your table- cousins of the bride and friends who you’ve met a few times.

“So. How’ve things been?” You ask, and he launches into a story that has you listening with every bone in your body.

Somehow, the two of you make it all the way through dinner and speeches and the first dance before the subject of your boyfriend even comes up. You wonder if he’s been waiting to broach it. You’ve been waiting for the right moment.

He nods towards the dance floor. “You have to promise me you’ll dance to at least one song tonight.”

You blink and shrug. “Easy. I love dancing.”

He stares at you. There’s the beginnings of another wide grin on his face.

“That is not what you said last time.”

“I lied,” you admit. “Because my boyfriend hated dancing.”

Daniel nods. “Hated. Past tense?”

“He’s not dead,” you deadpan, making him laugh. “But he’s also not my boyfriend anymore.”

Daniel’s foot nudges against yours under the table. “No?”

“No,” you say with a shrug.

Daniel nods. “Pretty girl like you, you must’ve moved on pretty quick,” he says.

His tone is light, teasing. He’s testing the waters. You shake your head and pretend you don’t see the way his shoulders sag in relief.

“I’ve sworn off dating,” you tell him. Your tone is teasing, too. “After he left me on my own at a wedding, I decided men are shit.”

You’re taunting him now. The conversation has gone from feeling each other out, from digging for information, to circling each other like sharks in the water. Your heart is beating steady in your chest. His eyes are locked on yours.

“You poor thing,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Let me prove you wrong?”

The tension crackles in the air. His knee nudges against yours and you swear you’re going to combust. You down the rest of your drink in one gulp, set the glass down, and reach for his suit jacket. You run your finger down the lapel, then back up, adjusting his collar.

“I swore off men,” you repeat, leaning forwards, keeping your voice low. “But this feels like a sign, doesn’t it? Like the universe sent me back to you.”

He nods. He reaches up, captures your wrist in his hand and holds it against his chest.

“So maybe you should go get me another drink,” you suggest. “And I’ll meet you on the dance floor.”

You lean even closer, then, close enough to press your lips to his cheek. Then you stand up and walk away towards where people are beginning to gather, to where the music is loudest. You don’t turn back to see if he’s watching. You already know he is.

…..

You have a fleeting thought, later, that maybe you should’ve switched to a drink with less sugar in it at some point in the night. The grenadine feels like it’s stuck to your tongue. Danny doesn’t seem to mind the taste, though.

He’s got you up against the wall in a back hallway of the reception venue. You back is pressed to the cool surface, your arms around his neck, his hands on your hips. His lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you deeply, like he’ll never get enough. You’re feeling the same.

His knee slots between your legs, and you’re a goner. His hand slips from your hip and cups your ass, hauling you closer with ease, tilting your hips away from the wall and into his. You break away for air, gasping for it, and he moves his lips to your neck. It feels heavenly, trapped between him and the wall, his hands all over you, his lips trailing lower and lower. He reaches up and brushes the thin strap of your dress off one of your shoulders. You shove your hands under his suit jacket and press them against his toned abdomen through his shirt. He lets out a groan, the noise vibrating against your neck. You throw your head back and laugh between gasps.

You wonder if he’d have his way with you right there. You wonder if you’d let him.

There are footsteps, then, clicking their way down the hall. You scramble to push him away as someone rounds the corner, but you know it’s painfully obvious. You turn your head, already feeling mortified, and come face to face with Natalie.

“Oh, thank god,” both you and your best friend say at the same time.

Daniel pulls away and looks between the two of you. You can’t look at him for more than a few seconds. His lips are red and puffy, his eyes half lidded. You distantly wonder if there’s beard burn on your face, if your lips are just as red. Then you start to wonder how his scruff might feel on other parts of you.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone,” Natalie says, laughing. “I heard noises, I thought…”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, and she nods in agreement.

“I’ll say,” she teases.

“Nat!” You hiss.

“You’d better take good care of her, Ricciardo,” he says, and your face grows hot all over again. “I don’t care how famous you are, I’ll fuck you up anyways.”

“Nat!” You hiss again.

“I will,” Danny promises, squeezing your hip and nodding. “I’m on a mission. Trying to prove not all men are shit.”

“Good luck,” Natalie says drily. But when she walks away, she’s smiling.

He turns back to you, and this time he places both his hands on the wall on either side of your head. You look up at him, licking your lips. You still taste the Shirley Temple, and you can taste him, too, now. He groans softly and closes his eyes. It’s nice to know you’re having an effect on him, too, nice to know you’re not the only one feeling worked up. You reach up and tug on the lapels of his jacket. You brush your lips against his jaw.

“We should have one more drink,” you tell him, humming happily. “And then you should take me to your hotel.”

He swallows. You press a kiss to the center of his throat.

“I’ve never heard a better plan in my whole life.” He says.

…..

At every wedding you go to afterwards, you order the same drink. Well, really, Danny orders them for you. You’ve thought a couple times about asking for wine or seltzer or even beer. You think it might break his heart, though. It’s a tradition now, and the pink sugary concoction will always taste like that very first night. Like bare feet in the grass, the thud of beanbags against wooden boards. Like Daniel’s laugh in the middle of the best man’s speech. Like you, alone at a table, and Daniel collapsing into the seat next to you, his hand extended to shake yours.

The same hand that’s wrapped up with yours now, resting on his knee. You never want to let go. You’re pretty sure he’d be okay with that.

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams

#daniel riccardo x reader #Danny Ricciardo x reader #Daniel Ricciardo x you #Danny Ricciardo x you #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #honeywrites #formula 1 fanfic

[mammonsrockstargf]

Thinking of Solomon with an MC who’s obsessed with trying to figure out where he was during certain time periods. Asking him about different myths and legends, fully expecting that he was there.

“Hey, Sol, did you ever meet Merlin?” you ask one day while lounging in his room. He looks up from his book. “Merlin’s a myth, MC,” he deadpans and you shrug. “So was hell up until a while ago,” you say and he sighs while putting his book down. “Well, I didn’t know him in person, but-“

Another time you’ll be reading about The Epic of Gilgamesh, but when you ask about it he just stares at you in disbelief. “What?” you’ll ask and he shakes his head. “MC, those are ancient stories. Why would you think I was alive during those times?”

You’ll nod and take a mental note. Sol wasn’t alive in 2700 B.C.

Your favorite though is asking him about other gods. Greek myths, Nordic myths, Egyptian myths. With little to no consideration that some of these things were happening at the same time and Solomon couldn’t possibly be at all these places simultaneously.

If the devil is alive then what stops Zeus or Odin from being as well? Solomon tells you that he doesn’t actually know but that he theorizes that whenever a religion has enough believers it becomes alive. Hence why Greek or Nordic gods haven’t been heard from in a while. You think it’s a simultaneously sad and interesting theory. “Imagine being a god and slowly feeling life slip away with your last believer,” you say one day with your head in his lap. His fingers combing through your hair momentarily stops. When you look up at him, you find him staring off into space with knitted brows. “Do you think we can meet Buddha?” you ask to lighten the mood and the man sighs in exasperation.

You enjoy watching his brain work while he's trying to summon memories. Sometimes you’ll hit a soft spot if you ask about a particularly brutal time period. You quickly realize that he doesn’t like talking about Macbeth or the 1300s. Those times you’ll kiss his face and apologize until the pain is washed away or at least put away for some time.

Living for as long as Solomon has isn’t easy. It’s a lonely existence. It’s hard for you to grasp, the fact that it isn’t just stories, but that he’s actually lived through these events.

One day the air in his room shifts and Solomon finds you glaring at him. He shifts uncomfortably, feeling like an ant under your gaze. “Sooo, what are you thinking about?” he asks, feeling himself grow smaller and smaller. He begins to wonder if you're actually trying to turn him into a bug.

“So, Sol. Where were you during The Second World War?”

a/n: this is a repost from my old blog! find my other stuff here

#obey me #obey me solomon #solomon #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #om! solomon #solomon x reader #solomon x mc #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me drabble #obey me fic #obey me fluff #solomon fluff #perse fics #perse fluff

[lovebugism]

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?” 

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson. 

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 2/2 (Astarion/F!Reader)

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk),

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read Part 1: Here

Read on AO3: Here

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Wow. I'll try to make this brief. First of all, I just want to say thank you all so much for your continued support. I know this took me forever to write, but I've been going through a lot of emotional turmoil with school and some health issues with my animals. Your patience means so much to me, and I can only hope this lives up to everyone's expectations! This is my first time writing smut, and ngl I feel a bit like Icarus, so let me know if y'all liked it. Last, but not least, thanks again to my bestie/beta @imaginarydromedary for holding my hand through the shame.

Astarion sits quietly beside the fire, absently picking the dirt from beneath his manicured nails. The night had unfolded like countless others before it: boring, mundane. Uneventful.

Perhaps he should retire early. The Realm According to Bumpo sits patiently atop the desk in his tent, and if he heads to bed now, he could potentially finish a chapter before his watch begins.

He stands, patting the dust off his trousers, just as Shadowheart emerges from your tent. He initially doesn’t pay her any mind - fails to notice the concern etched across her face. 

“Astarion.” 

He snaps to attention, recognizing the fear in her voice.

Astarion’s stomach sinks when their eyes meet. Shadowheart isn’t normally one to succumb to panic, but she looks as though she’s just stumbled out of a wolf’s den.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. She - I’ve never seen…” Shadowheart pauses, taking a steadying breath. “She’s feverish. She was fine only hours ago. I heard a cry from her tent and feared something was amiss. When I found her, she…” The cleric hesitates, eyes contemplative - as if weighing exactly how much she wants to reveal. 

“Out with it, damn it!”

“Is there any chance she’s been poisoned? You two stayed behind, back in the village. Did she come into contact with anything that might have pierced her skin?”

“Poisoned? No, she -” Astarion retraces the events, turning over your brief conversations in his head before landing on the only noteworthy detail he can think of.

He taps a finger on his chin, a thoughtful smile creasing his face. “Unless, of course, the Infernal chocolates didn’t agree with her.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” 

“The chocolate she found at the apothecary. I assumed she hid it away so she could enjoy her little treat, unbothered. There was Infernal text on the wrapper.”

She stares at him with wide eyes, jaw slack with disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Astarion shrugs, unfazed.

“Where’s Wyll?”

He rolls his eyes. “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

“Astarion!” 

“Oh, come on. That chocolate must have been at least a decade old. Are you certain this isn’t just some sort of stomach bug?”

The cleric shoves past him, groaning in exasperation. She shoots him a glare and mutters, “I’m certain,” before jogging in the direction of Wyll’s tent. 

“Infused with succubus spittle. Just one bite will have you and that special someone rolling around for hours. Consume responsibly." 

Astarion giggles boyishly. “An aphrodisiac? How fun.”

Wyll squints as he silently reads the next bit to himself, fingers tracing the text. He turns to Shadowheart, jaw tightening, "How much of this did you say she ingested?"

"I only found half the bar."

Wyll’s expression grows more serious. "This says the recommended serving size is one square… How many squares were left?"

“Oh, gods…” she breathes, "Six."

The three exchange silent, worried glances.

“Could she die from this?” Shadowheart asks, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Wyll’s lips press into a thin line. In truth, he doesn’t know the answer. He could ask Mizora for guidance, but the devil’s been awfully silent after his recent failures. He isn’t sure she'd be willing to answer him, let alone grant any favors. Still, it may be worth a call.

Just as Wyll’s about to suggest it, Astarion heaves a deep, dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, I know what we’re all thinking. I’ll take care of this.”

The other two regard each other, thoroughly confused.

“Look," Astarion explains, I may not be well-versed in magic, or magical remedies, for that matter, but now that we know what’s causing this… I think it’s obvious what needs to be done.”

“You’re joking.” Shadowheart laughs, incredulously.  

“No,” he continues, “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best. We need to act quickly, and let's just say, this fits into my... skill set.”

“So, you’re going to, what? Have sex with her? You think she’ll be capable of saying anything but yes, given the state she’s in?”

Astarion shoots her a glare. The mere thought that he’d ever so much as suggest doing something like that - bedding you when you’re too weak to reject him - the very idea of it makes him sick. 

He isn’t that evil. 

“Watch your tongue,” he spits at her, “before I do us all the favor of removing it.”

“Hang on, you two,” Wyll interjects, “Astarion, I think you might have a point. You would know better than anyone whether she’s in a right enough state of mind to… consent to this. You’re closest to her. She trusts you.” 

He turns to Shadowheart, “It’s worth a try.”

Astarion notices two things as he pulls back the flap of your tent.

The first is that it is unseasonably warm. Scorching hot, like summer. A stark contrast from the welcoming cool of the early spring night behind him. 

And second, that the air in the tent is heavy - heady with the scent of sweat and something else he can’t quite identify. It's clouding his senses, making his head swim. The taste of it settles on his tongue, like salt on the rim of an otherwise very sweet drink.

The moonlight at his back casts a dark shadow over your sleeping form. Astarion hesitates for a moment, taking in the sight of you, vulnerable and oblivious to his presence, feeling too much like a wolf looming over a snared rabbit.

You twitch, grimacing in pain. 

He frowns. This wasn’t the way he wanted to go about seducing you. His plan was much more sophisticated: a carafe of wine, a few honeyed words leading to a night of passion, your endless thanks, all culminating in some well-earned release and his assured protection.

A mutual exchange.

But, this?

He’s roused from his thoughts by another grunt, escaping from between your clenched teeth.

Whatever you’re going through, it looks like hell.

Ugh. You know what? Fine. Maybe this isn’t the way he envisioned it, but when has life ever blessed him with a perfect scenario? He’ll offer his… services, and respect whatever answer you give him. If you refuse him now, he can always try again later. Under less perilous circumstances, provided you survive the night.

And if not, well, he's never been one to play the hero, but at least he tried. 

He steps further inside, closing the entrance behind him. The moment he seals the tent shut, there is a palpable shift. The space feels infinitely heavier, laden with unnatural energy, reminiscent of anticipation, but just slightly… off.

He breathes, trying to focus on anything but that intoxicating scent. The haze of it is maddening.

The elf sits on his knees beside you, hands resting in his lap. 

He clears his throat, hoping the sound would be enough to wake you.

There’s no response. 

He whispers your name.

Nothing.

No choice, then.

He drums a finger against your bare arm.

The cleric was right. Your skin is so hot, it borders on scalding.

Finally, you begin to stir.

-

Again. It happened again. 

As soon as you closed your eyes to rest, you saw him - That thing that wore his skin. You felt his hands and mouth as he ravaged you until you fell apart beneath him, above him, wrapped around him, like he was everywhere all at once. 

He was demanding as he took pleasure from you. Ravenous. Mocking your cries, your begging.

The hours stretched into what felt like lifetimes, and you’d nearly given up hope, resigning yourself to the idea that this was your new, endless reality. 

Until suddenly, you hear a voice that pulls you from the dark recesses of your subconscious-- the very voice being used to torture you

Your name, uttered quietly by Astarion. Just Astarion. No second, more sinister layer beneath it.

Your eyelids flutter, then widen as a chilling realization washes over you. 

He’s touching you. The pads of his fingers are both a balm and an irritant, soothing and igniting the flames licking at the corners of your mind.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” He teases. 

You recoil from his touch, sitting upwards and crawling back away from him. 

He can’t be here. He, of all people, can’t be here.

And yet, something within you is screeching in delight.

'That’s him, isn’t it? The object of your desires? How fun!’

You swallow. Hard. 

“Astarion, I -” 

He holds up a hand, silencing you. “I’m aware.”

“Shadowheart informed us of your… predicament,” he continues, “I can’t help but feel partly responsible, seeing as I was there when you found the chocolate -”

“The chocolate? Is that - wait, what?” 

Shit. Your head is pounding. 

You press your palms against your eyes and groan. 

“I’ll spare you the details, but that chocolate was laced with succubus spittle - a highly potent aphrodisiac - and you, my dear, have consumed enough to bring an entire brothel to its knees.”

Your eyes snap open, meeting his own. There isn’t an ounce of humor in his tone. No sign of his usual mischief.

Gods, he’s being fucking serious.

“Now, as amusing as this might be if it were anyone else, I’d prefer it if our party’s leader made it out of this alive, and that leaves us with a choice."

You gaze at him silently, waiting as the candlelight paints his sharp features in warm hues of amber and honey. 

'He’s quite handsome. I see why you like him.’

“You can ride this out alone,” Astarion explains, “Shadowheart will return with her best salves and more potions for the fever. We’ll hope this passes quickly, but Wyll’s translation suggests the amount you consumed could leave you in this state for up to a week.”

Your stomach churns. You’re going to be sick.

“And the alternative?” you manage to ask.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your skin prickles at the contact.

“The alternative is that you let me help you through this. Consider it a repayment, of sorts, for gifting me your blood. I’m somewhat of an expert on… well,” he lets out a humorless laugh, “let’s just say, I’m the best chance you’ve got.”

Maybe it's the blood roaring in your ears, or maybe you’re still dreaming, but it sounds like Astarion is offering to… fuck you?

“I’m sorry, what?”

He groans, visibly frustrated. “Sex, my dear. If the magic is compelling you to have it, I think we should listen.”

‘Handsome and smart.’ 

You hiss, “Would you please shut up?”

Astarion squints. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sorry.” You clear your throat. “Listen, I - I get what you’re trying to do. I appreciate it, really, but -” 

Pain lances through your abdomen, a sharp, icy shard that interrupts your words. You clutch at your side, releasing Astarion’s hand before falling helplessly on your back, twisting in agony.

He inches closer, voice tinged with urgency. “We’re running out of time. If you want my help, it's best to ask now, because as much as I love the idea of you begging for me to bed you, I won’t be comfortable doing this unless you agree to this while you’ve still got your wits about you.” 

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision at the edges. He’s right. You don’t think you can endure this alone, and as much as you fucking hate to admit it, the damned succubus magic - that thing - is right.  

You do desire him. You’ve wanted him since the moment you met beside the nautiloid. Now here he is, offering to alleviate your suffering.  

There’s just one part of his offer that you can’t quite come to terms with.

“I didn’t let you drink from me because I was hoping you’d repay me.” Your voice warbles, wet and stressed, “I can’t have sex with you if it’ll just be part of some ridiculous transaction. Not with anyone, and certainly not with you.” 

His expression softens as your words sink in. It’s a confession, of sorts. The kind he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It stuns him almost to the point of speechlessness.  

“My apologies. Believe me, it was more of an excuse than anything. I didn’t mean to suggest…” He lets his words trail off, shaking his head. You two can revisit this conversation later, when time isn’t of the essence. “It doesn’t matter. I want to do this. Let me help you.” 

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

It’s clear he means this.

He means every word. 

You nod. “Okay.”

Astarion clears his throat, rolling the tension off his shoulders. 

“Good. Now that we’ve got that taken care of,” he says as he throws one of his legs over your waist, straddling you, “Why don’t you lie back and let me take care of this, hm?” 

His posture is relaxed. Confident. He regards you with hooded eyes and the faintest hint of a smirk. It’s quite the sight, one you’d enjoy significantly more if your body wasn’t busy screaming for his attention. 

His deft hands make quick work of the laces of your shirt, and with every string that loosens, your composure unravels further. You squirm, unable to resist the heat that teases your skin and the growing itch beneath it. 

As if Astarion can sense your rising panic, he places a cool palm against your burning cheek, his touch both gentle and practiced as he rubs smooth circles at the dip of your temple. 

“Relax, dear,” he whispers, both a request and a command. The gentle lilt in his voice masks the underlying authority, but your body obeys all the same, tension releasing from your muscles. “I’ve got you.”

Astarion quickly rids you of the offending fabric, chest and stomach now bared to him. His eyes scan over your form with focused intensity, lips pinched between his teeth, like an artist deciding what to make of their blank canvas.

“Normally, I’d take my time with this,” he admits, “but given the circumstances…” He swiftly undoes the buttons of your trousers before yanking them off along with your smallclothes. One single, fluid motion. 

He can’t hide the mild shock that follows when he sees the state of you - dripping wet, red and pulsing with need. 

He dips the tip of his finger between your folds. It glides over velvet skin, coating the digit in warm, wet slick. A strangled, pitiful noise escapes from your throat.

For a moment, Astarion’s calculated expression falters, surprised by the rate at which your body opens itself up to him. A glint of hunger lurks beneath the surface.

“This may be easier than I thought.” He says with a smirk, more to himself than to you. 

He presses two digits in, slow and intentional. There’s no resistance; A knife through warm butter. You’re dripping down his knuckles, gripping around him like a vice. He slides all the way in until the heel of his palm meets your clit. 

“Breathe.” 

Not even realizing you’d been holding your breath, you release it with a shutter.

“Very good.” He punctuates his words with the slow drag of his fingers. Long, languid movements. He’s taking his sweet time with you, pulling scandalous little cries from your lips. It’s like he’s toying with you - seeing how long you can hold out before breaking. 

It doesn’t take much time at all.

“Astarion -”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Please, what? What do you need, darling?” His eyes are fixed on your own, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. A cat playing with a cornered mouse.

“More. Anything.” 

He hums in approval, then wets the pad of his thumb on his tongue before drawing circles exactly where you need. Heat coils at the base of your spine, forming a ball of tension that threatens to snap. 

The sheer intensity of it is enough to scare you, caught between the urge to chase the sensation or flee from it. “Astarion, I -” 

He ignores your warning as if he hadn’t heard it, plunging his fingers into your heat and curling them - expertly caressing a spot that threatens to shatter you. Your hands fly out, gripping the fabric of his shirt, the sheets beneath you, anything in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“Go on, love. Let it out. I’ve got you.” 

Your body seizes as your orgasm tears through you, igniting every one of your oversensitive nerves. Back arching off the bedroll, several strangled sounds - almost pained - rip from your throat. The pleasure threatens to tear you apart, but the thick fog of lust occupying your mind begins to subside, offering the slightest bit of clarity as you twitch beneath him. 

Astarion grabs you by the jaw, tilting your head this way and that, admiring his handiwork. He's quite pleased with himself, with the mess he's made of you - jaw slack and brows pinched. He coaxes out the aftershocks, watching you squeeze around his fingers.

"There,” he gives you a playful pat on the cheek, "You're looking better already." 

"You're - agh - enjoying this too much."

"I never said I wasn't going to enjoy it." 

A beat of silence passes between the two of you as he allows you to catch your breath. For a moment, you think the coast is clear - that maybe, this was as far as things had to go. This was what the magic was compelling you to do, or at the very least - it was close enough. You fulfilled its wishes. Surely.

But then he pulls out of you, and the second you feel the vacuum of emptiness where his fingers once were, that voice in your head is screeching like some sort of petulant child. It pouts, waggling its non-existent finger in your direction. The demanding bitch. 

Part of you, instinctually, realizes that this is just the beginning - that you’re simply at the edge of the shore watching the tides recede while a devastating wave builds somewhere in the distance. 

“What is it? Does it still hurt?” Astarion asks, breaking the silence, and you realize that no, it doesn’t. Not like before, at least. 

You shake your head.

“Good. I’d wager that means this is working.” He smiles triumphantly, working the laces of his own clothes, and ridding himself of the final layers between you, revealing an intricate network of muscle beneath. For a man who’d supposedly been starved for the last two centuries, he certainly doesn’t look the part.

Astarion nudges your legs apart with his thigh, then settles between your knees, dragging the head of his cock between your folds. He hums in approval, admiring the sight as he coats himself in your slick. It practically drools out of you.

There’s no resistance when he dips himself into your entrance. 

His eyes scan over your face, searching for any discomfort, but all he finds is need. 

So, he presses in further. 

“Shit, you -” 

He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath as he bottoms out, then takes a moment, eyes pinched shut, collecting himself. 

He slides out, just an inch or so, before plunging back in, buried as deeply as he can reach. It’s so damn easy, the sinfully wet mess you’ve left all over his cock allowing him to glide in and out, tilting his hips with each thrust.

The stretch of him is perfect, like you were made for this - made to take him. His length rubbing and dragging against your walls acts like a balm, relaxing your body as you swallow and grip him in scorching heat. 

He grabs one of your thighs, pressing it into your chest - the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper into your core.

It isn’t long before you’re begging him for more, digging your heels into the curve of his back.

Astarion starts pounding into you - a new, brutal pace spurred on by your encouragement and the wet, filthy slap of his skin against yours. The sounds reverberate off the canvas of your tent, blending with your choked sobs. You just know your companions are going to have something to say about this in the morning, but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care. 

The only thing that matters now is the man above you - his nails digging into the flesh of your ass, whispering how good you feel. How well you’re taking him, “Like you were made for this - for me.” His grunts are like music to your ears, drowning out all other thoughts as his chest vibrates against your own.

It’s all too much. 

Your orgasm sneaks up on you before you have a chance to warn him, but he feels the way you flutter around his cock and acts on instinct - snaking his fingers between your bodies and rubbing your clit in quick circles. 

You throw your head back with a cry, shaking beneath him, and grip him like a vice as you come. The force of it slams into you, hot and devastating, tightening every muscle within its wake. You wind your limbs tightly around the hard planes of Astarion’s body as he rolls his hips into you, slow and deep. 

You can feel him twitching inside you, his rhythm suddenly stuttering with each thrust. Something tells you he’d come now, if you’d allow him.

But where?

'Where else?'

The very idea of him not spilling every drop he has inside of you disturbs you nearly to the point of panic, and with that, you finally understand what this damned succubus has been demanding of you this entire time.

“Astarion, please. I need you.” 

“Where?” he asks, voice muffled, panting hot and open-mouthed against the swell of your shoulder.

“Inside,” you beg, “Please. Please -  It’s alright.” 

He shudders, surging up into you one last time with a strangled grunt. Holding onto your hips, he pulses within you, the warmth of his release filling you to the brim, until a thick white ring of come forms at the base of his length. You can’t help but clench around him, moving to match his previous pace and trying desperately to wring as much out of him as you can, until it begins to seep out onto the sheets beneath you.

It isn’t until he stills inside of you that you release your hold on him. The two of you take a minute to collect yourselves, waiting for your heart to settle and listening to Astarion’s ragged breaths. 

He lifts his weight off of you with a grunt, settling back on his knees. 

“That was - agh,” he shivers as he pulls out of you. You don’t even want to look at the mess.

“I’m going to have to burn these sheets, aren’t I?” you ask, sitting up on your shoulders.

He throws his head back with a genuine, hearty laugh, and cards his fingers through his dampened hair. 

This is the most relaxed you think you’ve ever seen him - not a scowl line in sight. He rolls his shoulders, and sighs at the subsequent pop before turning his focus back on you.

“I’ll have you know,” Astarion muses, “I’ve done this more times than I can count— but this, my dear,” he chuckles, “This was one for the books.”

“So, was sleeping with me everything you could have possibly imagined?” It’s an obvious joke, given your tone. An offer to squash any chance of this happening again, should he wish to. An exit. 

He hums playfully. “Well, next time I think I’d prefer the subtle influence of wine over a mind-altering aphrodisiac, if it's all the same to you.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Did he just offer to do this again? Well, not exactly, but -

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asks. 

Better, is the honest answer. Slightly confused and deeply embarrassed, but better. 

The apologies you’ll have to make after the night’s over seem endless, both to him and to Shadowheart for all the trouble you caused. Not to mention the others, who’ve probably had the sound of your squealing burned into their memories forever. The idea of it is daunting.

“Because if you’re still reeling from any nasty, lingering effects,” he continues, “I’m sure I could be… persuaded to help again.”

Oh.

Hm.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

-

Tag List (sorry if I missed anyone! I only added you if you explicitly asked to be tagged): @daedriclys @captain039 @sushiumex @sugasweettea @marauders-moon @starlightelegy @ablxssm @the-lake-is-calling

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion acunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #astarion x you #spittle

[nariism]

a simple mission — neuvillette

accidental confession + "say it again. please."

synopsis. oh. oh no. you were most certainly not supposed to overhear this conversation between the iudex and the duke, but now you don't even know how to act right.

wc. ~1k

— for an anon bff 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️

You didn't mean to eavesdrop.

Really, truly, you didn't. All you had come for was to deliver the new reports from Poisson, have your usual polite chit-chat, then take the rest of the night off for your date.

Really, truly, you wish you hadn't overheard the conversation on the other side of the door—the muffled voices of who you presumed to be the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide making his rare overworld appearance and the Iudex of whom you held so dear.

Really, truly, you meant to walk away when you heard the passing of your name from Wriothesley, the curious tone and the silence that followed.

"I don't get you." A sigh, indignant and frustrated, then: "You're supposed to tell people how you feel. Jeez."

"It's quite complicated."

"Complicated? Come on, I'm tired of watching the two of you make goo-goo eyes at each other."

"... 'Goo-goo' eyes?..."

You stifle your laughter at the strained voice, though you have to wonder if your crush on Neuvillette was so obvious that even the warden had noticed from afar.

"You're seriously just going to let them go on a date?"

"That is their decision to make. Not mine."

"Whatever. I'm just saying you should consider the possibility that you should pursue this."

"My feelings for them don't amount to anything, so just forget—"

The door swings open faster than you can blink and you're left flailing around pathetically with your stack of papers. Both men stand dauntingly in the doorway, peering at you in mortification (and, to your horror, a shine of amusement in Wriothesley's eyes).

Really, truly, you wanted to melt into the Primordial Sea right then and there. And perhaps you should have turned heel and bolted away to do just that, if only to miss the incriminating colour blooming on Neuvillette's cheeks.

He was right. It is complicated, and the way he can't meet your gaze makes it all the worse.

You've called off your date tonight.

It's not the first time. It certainly won't be the last if this keeps up.

Unsure of what to do or where to go, you end up soaked in the rain at the edge of the city. The bridge overlooks the flooding Court of Fontaine—a pretty, weeping sight that Neuvillette had shown you what felt like eons ago. Back when the two of you were just friends and nothing more, when his name didn't stir something scorching within your heart.

What should have remained a professional, civil relationship between you and the Iudex grew into something more as the years passed.

You noticed the glow of his lilac eyes, the way they softened when you entered a room; the undeniable fondness in his expression as it crinkled with his smile, dignified but warm; the lingering of his hand over yours as he accepted whatever you brought to him for that day, a gesture which he hadn't graced others with to your knowledge.

Wriothesley had bugged you once about it before during one of his visits, calling you a lovesick fool. As it turns out, he loved drama of all sorts and was making it his personal mission to witness this opera himself.

You hadn't expected him to bring it up with Neuvillette as well, thinking that he would be too off put by the judge's apparent indifference toward you.

The soft pitter-patter of rain hushes as an umbrella unfolds above you, shielding you from the onslaught.

"You'll catch a cold."

You visibly deflate, head burying into your arms along the stone railings. Oh, dear. You don't know how to act right now. How are you supposed to act in front of the person who admitted to having feelings for you just a few ago?

Neuvillette takes your silence as his cue to continue probing. "I wanted to chat with you about what happened today. But, if you're busy then..." He turns his head left and right, searching for any signs of the date you had thrilled about earlier this week.

(A date that you wished could erase all the feelings you had for him, to no avail.)

"I'm not busy. I canceled," you tell him quietly. You stand up straight, turning to face him but with avoidant eyes. "What is it?"

"I want to apologize if I made you uncomfortable this afternoon. I understand it is unprofessional for us to be involved with each other, and I won't bring it up again. Not even to Wriothesley."

You blink at him, half surprised yet half not. The sudden downpour of rain roars in your ears deafeningly, somber weather matching his darkening appearance.

"You don't have to apologize. I wasn't uncomfortable, just..." You look away awkwardly. "Confused."

"What is there to be confused about?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "About why you never told me how you feel."

(Hypocrisy at its finest, honestly.)

Silence overcomes you again as he considers your words, deep in thought. You can tell just by the minute twist of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes, and it makes you sick that you can read every single tell of his emotions.

"I wouldn't want to burden you. I am unfamiliar with feelings such as these. I don't think I am fit to be your partner."

"Nobody is perfect," you remind him gently, reaching out to wipe the wetness from the rain off his cheeks. "Do you think I'm perfect?"

"Undoubtedly."

His quickness makes you snort with laughter, hand withdrawing from his space to take the umbrella.

"Wrong. Very wrong. I eavesdropped on you today, you know?"

"I know," he mutters, cheeks flaming with colour again as he remembers how flustered you seemed with the door swinging open. "How much of it did you hear?"

You hum, a soft smile spreading across your face. "Enough."

Neuvillette shrinks back in embarrassment. "And I suppose Wriothesley knew you were behind the door the entire time. Nothing escapes him."

"I'll have to thank him later," you giggle.

The Iudex stiffens. "You will?"

"Well... only if you say it again."

"That's—"

"Please?"

You watch the Adam's apple in his throat bob as he swallows, unable to regain composure.

"If I had feelings for you, would you accept them?"

You close the umbrella and shake it off, relishing in the sprinkle showering over you.

"A million and one times, I would."

He smiles, taking the umbrella from you. His hand lingers over yours for a moment, as always.

"Then I believe you do have some thanking to do."

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

#— whispers in the wind: 1k event ✉️ #umm silly repost bc tumblr ate my post for some reason #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #neuvillette #neuvillette x gn reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x gender neutral reader #neuvillette x you

[kaiijo]

TOLD YOU SO — ITOSHI SAE

pairing: itoshi sae x fem! reader content: reader wears a dress, a little possessive behavior on sae’s end, oliver aiku cameo notes: pretty eyes = pretty guys

You love Sae, you really do. Behind that apathetic, disinterested exterior lies a heart that beats in turn with yours. You love him, you really, really do, and you have to remind yourself of that as you ignore the side-eye he’s giving you that’s tinged with a certain smugness and screams, I told you so.

Okay, so it definitely was not the smartest move to forego a coat when you knew that this fundraiser was going to be on an outdoor rooftop bar in late fall. But none of your coats went with the dress you were wearing — a long, low-backed, satin number — which was the only thing you had that was formal enough for the event. Sae had looked you up and down when you two were getting ready in your apartment and said, “You’re going to be cold.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, “it’s not even that cold out.”

“You need to bring a coat.”

“I’m really fine, Sae. I run hot, remember?”

He glanced at your outfit again and said, “You’re going to be freezing.”

You shrugged and gave him a cheeky smile. “Then I’ll just wear your coat.”

He rolled his eyes. “No way, I’m not going to be cold because of your poor judgment.”

You hummed, “I think you will.”

“And I think you’ll be freezing.”

“Guess we’ll both have to wait and see whose right.”

You really hate when he’s absolutely and utterly correct in an argument, because at the moment, you’re trying your best to pretend that the goosebumps climbing your skin is not due to the chilly evening air. You refuse to meet Sae’s eyes, enviously peeking at his suit jacket.

You shiver as a breeze blows by and you huff to yourself, mumbling that you’re going to get a drink. Maybe indulging in the open bar will warm you up. You weave through the crowd and make it to the bar, sighing when you feel the warmth from one of the few heat lamps set up around the area. You swear that your boyfriend made the two of you purposely stand in a corner without one to prove a point.

You order a martini and sip it as you stand in the heat for a few more seconds, relishing in it. It’s not total protection from the cold but it definitely helps some.

You feel someone sidle up next to you and say, “You’re Sae’s girlfriend, right?”

You turn and face the owner of the voice, extending your free hand. “Yeah, that’s me. Oliver Aiku, right?”

“In the flesh,” he chuckles and he shakes your hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. We’ve been bugging Itoshi to introduce us since we saw you on his home screen.”

You smile involuntarily. That photo is from when you and Sae really started getting serious in your relationship, and he took you on a surprise trip to a little cottage in Mallorca. “Yeah, we’ve been trying to keep things pretty private.”

Oliver hums, “I get that, but it’s nice to finally meet the person who makes him actually crack a smile for once.”

You laugh at that and the two of you carry on a pleasant conversation. You finally get how so many people fall victim to Oliver’s charms, especially after so much press about his tendency towards womanizing; he’s easy to talk to, friendly, definitely charismatic, and undoubtedly easy on the eyes. At the end of the day, though, you wouldn’t trade your grumpy, green-eyed boyfriend for anyone in the world. Not when you get to see the softer edges of him when his walls crumble and he falls into your arms. You wouldn’t trade that for anything.

A particularly strong gust of wind makes you stiffen and set your glass down, wrapping your arms around yourself. Okay, you’ll finally admit it aloud: “It’s fucking freezing.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow and before you know it, he’s shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over your bare shoulders. “Better?”

You let out a sigh. “Much.”

“Aiku.” Sae’s voice sounds from behind you, tone sharp.

“Itoshi!” Oliver ignores the ice in your boyfriend’s tone as he motions to you. “Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this one from us! She’s certainly a charmer.”

Sae glares at him. “I know, she’s my girlfriend, which is why I don’t understand why she’s wearing your coat.”

“Oh, she said she was cold.”

Sae gives you a look, frowns, and he slides his jacket off his shoulders and holds it out to you. “Take this,” he says and you do, hiding your giddiness as you hand Oliver his jacket back. You sink into Sae’s suit jacket, letting the familiar scent of his cologne flood your senses.

Oliver pats your shoulder and says, “It was nice to meet you! Don’t be a stranger, ‘kay?” He disappears into the crowd and it’s your turn to give Sae a smug look.

“Don’t even,” he says.

You lean into him and he wraps an arm around your shoulder. “Guess we were both right in the end.”

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock scenarios #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes

[sturncrazy]

PITSTOP🔥

matt sturniolo x y/n (fem)

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT nsfw 18 +(exhibitionism?, dom matt, language, unprotected sex, kinda rough, lil kinky at the end)

authors note: writin some matt content for variety 🤌 this is slightly inspired by that one time matt forcibly yanked nick out of the car cause that moment lives in my head rent free.

summary: you and your boyfriend matt are driving home from an event )you were his date) when you get bored and start teasing him more than he can handle

word count: 2,254 w

—————————————————————————

you sighed, stretching you arms above your head to the roof of the car.

“you tired, babe?” Matt questioned, not moving his eyes from the road

“mmm a little” you responded. it was a calm warm night driving along one of the quieter roads. you watched out the window looking at the few stars you could spot in the clear night sky. the car hummed peacefully while Matt’s playlist played low in the background.

You let out a small hiss of pain as you rolled out your ankles, suddenly aware the damage wearing heels for the night had done to you.

“what’s wrong?” Matt asked, concerned.

“nothin, feet just hurt from my shoes”

“oh, take ‘em off? you can put your feet up on the dash. might help with blood flow or somethin” he replied. you took his advice and kicked off the evil pointed toe stilettos you had on after unbuckling the ankle straps. you sighed in relief as you lifted your legs up and stretched them out. the silky black dress you had on had a slit up the left side and as you raised your legs half the fabric slipped between your thighs, exposing your left leg up to the side of your thong.

“woooo look at those legs…gonna make me crash the car if you distract me like that, babe” matt said stealing a glance at your body next to him. you felt a small flutter in your stomach at his comment. Matt had that effect on you so easily. even this far along into your relationship. it only ever took him even suggesting sex for you to be all over him.

“distracting you? whaaaat? i’m just gettin comfy” you teased hiking your dress up all the way and moving your bare legs around slightly.

“cmon y/n, at least wait til we’re home” Matt chuckled trying to keep his peeks at you subtle. you dramatically fussed around in your seat and whined.

“this dress is uncomfy. the straps are itchy”

“mmm” matt mumble ignoring you. you huffed, exasperated that he wasn’t giving you any attention. you whined again and reached to your side to start tugging at your zipper which made a loud sound as you pulled it.

“wha-what are you doing?” matt stuttered looking over at you. he knew that sound.

“i’m taking the top of it off. it’s bugging me.” you stated flatly.

“y/n, you can’t take your dress off in the car”

“i said I’m taking the top of it off. don’t worry i’m not gonna sit here totally buttass naked”

“still what if someone sees or something” matt said worriedly as you started to pull your arms out of the straps, still holding the top part of the dress up to cover your boobs.

“well then, lucky them” you replied letting go of your hold of the fabric. it slipped down easily sitting around your stomach, leaving you exposed from your bellybutton up. the cool air from the cars ac hit your skin making your nipples perk up immediately.

“jesus y/n” matt rasped out, swallowing loudly looking at your exposed tits. you played stupid and turned to him.

“what?”

“you know what. you have your tits out in my car and i’m trying to drive. don’t be dumb with me right now” he huffed getting pissed off at you. his grip tightened on the steering wheel and you felt a wetness start to form between your legs as you watched his tattooed arm muscles flex slightly. you leaned across the arm rest and up to his ear and kissed it lightly and then bit on his earlobe slightly.

“seriously y/n? this is unsafe”

“how far from getting home are we, matty?” you panted into his ear.

“like 25 minutes. now sit back down.” you whined loudly, crashing back into your seat.

“that’s too loonnnggg”

“too long for what”

“to wait. i’m horny now, matty” you said in your brattiest tone.

“so? not my problem. control yourself, y/n” he said ignoring you again. this was the last straw. his seeming lack of interest had pushed you too far. you needed to get under his skin. and you needed something to sooth the building pressure between your legs that was crying for attention. you placed your legs back up on the dash and let your knees fall to either side, leaning one against the window and intentionally dropping the other to give matt as clear of a view as possible. the crotch of your mesh thong was now fully on display. you shivered as the cool air blasting from the vents reached new places. you took a hand and ran it across your still exposed tits before dragging it down your stomach and into the space between your legs. you let out a small moan and threw your head back against your headrest as you began to press your fingers up against the soaked mesh fabric. slowly you pushed it aside and began to run two fingers up and down your slick folds which created an audibly wet sound.

“y/n what the fuck are you doing” matt barked looking over at you.

“fixing my problem since clearly you’re no help” you hissed as you began to drag circles over your clit. you let out another exaggerated moan, bordering on pornographic and closed your eyes. you felt matt make a sharp turn with the car. a few moments later, half still in the trace of your self inflected pleasure, you became aware that the car had stopped moving. you fluttered your eyes open just in time to see matt getting out of the car and slam his door. you had just enough time to process your visible surroundings as he made his way around the car to your side. you were somewhere wooded and darker, pulled off on the side of what looked to be a dead road. maybe matt really had had enough of your toying with him and this is where he’d brought you to get rid of you. you felt your leg fall down, loosing its support, as your side door swung open. before you had time to question what was going on matt yanked you out of the car by your wrist. you stumbled slightly trying to get your footing on the grassy patch beneath you. he slammed his body up against your back and roughly wrapped one arm around your waist to pull you impossibly closer

“bend over the hood of the car” he growled into your ear still behind you

“matt-wha—here? but—“

“you wanna act like a little slut on the road and touch yourself for anyone to see? then you’ll get fucked like a little slut for anyone to see. i said. bend over the fucking hood of the car now.” he snarled before unlatching from your waist and giving you a slight push in his desired direction. you obliged as a combination of nerves and desire stuttered through your body. you reached the hood of the car and leaned over it pressing your stomach and chest with your half-on dress up against the cool metal of the vehicle.

“lift up your dress” matt said firmly from behind you. once again you listened as you bunched up the fabric that covered your legs and ass and tucked it under your upper half to hold it up.

“good girl.” he said and you felt a harsh slap hit your backside. you let out a small shriek at the sensation. it hurt, but in a good way. a way that made you want more. he pushed his crotch, still in his jeans, up against your bare skin.

“you look so fuckable like this, y/n” he said thrusting his covered hardon against you more harshly.

“matt—please” you whined out. he wrapped a fistful of your hair around his wrist and yanked your head back.

“what was that, slut?” he snarled into your ear again.

“please matt— i need you” you panted desperately

“you begging for my cock already, you little whore?” he said slipping a hand around between your legs and beginning to rub his long slender fingers up and down the soaking thin mesh layer covering your pussy. you whimpered uncontrollably at the sensation.

“tell me what you need” he said continuing to send electricity through your body as he rubbed at your pulsing bundle of nerves

“please matt- i - i need you— i need you to fuck me— i need to feel you inside of me right now” you croaked out hearing the sound of a zipper being undone. he shoved the pathetic bit of fabric covering your dripping folds to the side

“that’s my good girl” he cooed sinisterly before slamming into you without warning. you let out a loud cry at the sensation of him so suddenly stretching you out. matt and you had had sex more than a few thousand times, but you’d never quite get used to his size. you heard him grunt as your walls clenched around him.

“fuck i love that tight little pussy” he grunted slowly pulling back out of you.

“so big matt—it—it hurts” you slurred out breathlessly

“oh don’t act like you can’t take it now, baby” he said pushing you harshly down against the car hood, your face smushing up against it slightly before he slammed back into you again filling you up.

“OH GOD MATT” you yelped out in half pain and half ecstasy. he began to thrust into you at a relentless pace. you let out a string of curses and moans so loud and pathetic it put most porn to shame.

“you like when i fuck you like the little slut you are out here for anyone to see?” matt groaned as he slapped your ass again, never letting up on his pace

“fuuuu—yes matt oh fuck” you cried out desperately fighting to breath through his ramming into your dripping hole. he pushed one hand down on your lower back forcing your ass even higher up making his hard length push even deeper into you. you thought the sensation would make you pass out.

“yeah? want everyone to watch me fuck you and see how pathetic you are for my dick, huh?”

“yes yes yes” you moaned

“fuuuucckk you feel so fucking good y/n” he exhaled leaning slightly over you now, supporting himself with his arms on either side of you pressing against the car hood, never stopping his thrusts.

the sound of his hips slapping your ass as he tirelessly slammed his throbbing dick inside of you must’ve been audible from miles away.

“matt shit i’m close” you horsely managed to squeak out

“yeah? you gonna cum all over my cock for me princess?” he said before biting down into the soft flesh of your shoulder. you let out another cry and felt the pit in your stomach of tension start to build up to its final moments.

“cmon babygirl. cum for me” those words sent you over the edge as you let out an unimaginably loud moan and felt yourself ooze your release juices and clench uncontrollably around him. he let out a low growl as his thrusts started becoming more messy.

“oh fuck i’m gonna cum y/n”

“mmm yes matty cum all over my pussy” you said still coming down from your high

“FUCK oh fuck i’m cumming i’m gonna cum” he stuttered pulling out of you abruptly just in time to coat your folds with thick spurts of his hot release. he shuddered collapsing on top of you slightly. you let out a small satisfied mmm as he tried to catch his breath.

“do you want me to try to find you a tissue or something” he said pulling back from you, looking at the mess he’d made of you.

“no” you stated calmly turning to face him.

“i like it this way.” you said readjusting your thong back over your sticky area enjoying the look of both awe and slight embarrassment that flushed matt’s sweet face.

“god your hot” he said pulling you in for a genuine kiss then heading back for his side of the car.

“y’know when we first pulled up here i thought you’d actually brought me out here to kill me” you laughed climbing back into the passenger seat and shutting the door behind you.

“what? cmon y/n, you know i’d never hurt you” said matt as he settled into his seat seemingly truly concerned by your accusation

“no no i know trust me”

“i mean i might fuck you so hard you wish you were dead, but that’s a different story” he said bashfully looking at his feet, he’s usual shyness taking back over slightly. both adorable and hot. he really could do no wrong. you giggled lightly and leaned over giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“i love you matty” you said sweetly

“i love you too, y/n” he said smiling at you. you grinned back at him still leaning over your seat loving getting to look at his face this close up. you always adored those big blue eyes. he blinked at you softly and then peered down your gaping dress raising his eyebrows dramatically.

“think you have a round two in you when we get home?” he asked with a grin

“maaattt” you said giving him a small slap on the chest

“what?”

“you’re not tired after that whole display?” you questioned

“oh please y/n, we’re just getting started” he said starting the car engine.

————————————————————————— uhh lowkey i rly like this one??

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[luveline]

Love love love your writing Jade, I must have reread everything a dozen times!

For a dad!character request, what would you think of Single father Remus signing up to chaperone a school event or field trip? Maybe he meets the newest teacher, who happens to be his exact idea of the perfect person for him…

(Lots of love<3)

“Don’t get– forget your coat, dad.” 

Remus grabs his coat from the passenger seat with a self-deprecating sigh. “I’m s’posed to remember things for you, Lia.” 

Cordelia smiles up at him, her shiny coat and boots already taking on rain. “Okay, so ‘member my lunch, then.” 

Remus turns back to the passenger seat to grab her packed lunch from the footwell. “Thank you.” 

Remus is the kind of parent who writes a list every week, budgeting to the penny and laying out uniforms the night before, but he’s off-kilter today. “I wish your teacher could’ve given me some warning.” 

“She’s new, dad. You have to be nice for new people, ‘cos they don’t know– she’s not used to it.” 

Remus locks the car door, already cold to the bone and wishing they could’ve called off sick. He offers Cordelia her lunchbox (which isn’t a box at all, but a padded fabric zip up pouch in fashion with the rest of the girls her age), and tugs on his jacket. It’s not his, it belonged to Sirius a few years ago, but it got left in his wardrobe somehow and he’s been wearing it since. 

“Okay, lovely girl, what’s the rules for today?” he asks, taking her hand. 

“To be good.” 

“Yeah, and what next?” 

“To stay with my buddy.” 

“Yes, and what’s the last one?” 

She beams at him and waves their joined hands. “To have fun!” 

Remus doesn’t think he’ll be having much of it. He isn’t on the PTA, he had no idea parents even went on these trips, but they’re short-staffed at Cordelia’s school lately and now the year two teacher is off sick, and the phone call was a shock. He didn’t have the wherewithal to say no. 

Cordelia’s class are waiting outside of the school gates near a big red and green bus. Remus is the only parent. Why is he the only parent? There are around thirty kids and only two teachers, the newest of which stands at the front, your hands behind your back and a massive smile on your lips despite the bad weather. 

You’re very pretty, Remus has already thought before, and you dress sweetly, happy colours and cute skirts and pants with flowers and hearts and stars. You’re reaching up into the sky as you say, “So they have lots of energy to grow big and tall like us!”

Most of the kids are listening aptly, though pods of them chatter or fight. 

You see Remus quickly and dodge around the children to meet him. “Mr. Lupin! Hello, hi Lia. I have a packet for you.” 

He smiles awkwardly. “Right.” What’s a packet? He looks down at Cordelia but she’s straining against his hand, desperate to go and talk to her friends. “You can go, lovely. I’ll be right here.” 

“Can I sit with you on the bus?” she asks.

He’d definitely prefer it. “Whatever you want to do. Want me to have your lunchbox?” 

“No, that’s okay!” She leans up for a kiss. Remus suddenly wonders if he’s any good at being a parent, knowing you’re watching, but he leans down for a kiss and gives her a quick pat on the back. “Love you.” 

“Love you.” He clears his throat and stands up. “The packet?” 

You’re looking at him funny. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Nothing, nothing,” you stay, still smiling. He’s ninety nine percent sure you aren’t making fun. 

You load the children onto the bus and have him stand at the front with you, squished together in the aisle. “This is Lia’s dad, Mr. Lupin. Can everyone say hi?” He’s sure he’s beet red. “He’s our chaperone today. You listen to him just like you’d listen to me or Mrs. Davies. If Mr. Lupin tells you to stop talking, to stop running, anything at all, you listen. But today is about having fun and seeing all the flowers and bugs, so let’s have lots of fun!” You touch his elbow gently. He smiles. 

Lia forgets that she wanted to sit with Remus by that time, and you end up hip to hip in the front row. The children are immensely loud, and Mrs. Davies has to constantly ask them to be quiet, but it’s not as though Remus would notice; when he woke up that morning he had no idea he’d be doing this, his schoolyard crush for you feels as though it’s written over his forehead, and he’s more nervous than he’s felt in years. 

Remus is cool. He’s the cool friend, the quiet, collected one, who doesn’t stutter nor falter, but he finds it harder to be that way with you when you’ve seen him pick Cordelia up from the yard and kiss every inch of her face and tell her in baby talk that he missed her so so much. 

“I got you something.” 

Cool, Remus says to himself. I’m cool. 

You unveil an informational packet and a small purple box. “That’s just the stuff I told you on the phone this morning,” you say, “and some emergency stuff you can read before we get there. God forbid something happen, but if it does, you aren’t liable. I, however, will get in lots of trouble.” You offer the box. Even your hands are cute.

It’s a rough day. The kids are rowdy, the weather is wet. Lia’s friend Kory keeps stepping in puddles and Lia herself won’t leave Remus alone. She wants to eat lunch in his lap and half gets her way, the two of them holding hands, Remus a big head surrounded by little girls. 

“What’s that?” she asks in a whisper. 

“This?” He knocks the purple box with his knuckle. “This was from Miss L/N.” He opens the plastic lid to show her the treasure inside, a caramel donut with chocolate shavings. It looks expensive and delicious. “Should we share?” he whispers back. 

“Yes, please.” 

Remus breaks it in half, and Lia breaks her half into half again to share with Kory. He feels eyes on his face and looks up to find you watching him with a soft look, but you promptly flatten it and look down. You pick at your lunch, and choke when someone asks you if you’re alright.

Oh, he thinks, giving Lia’s back a quick rub. Chaperoning really isn’t so bad.

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